


The Closet Is Dark

by PotionMastersBitch



Category: NCIS
Genre: Coming Out, Father-Son Relationship, Gay Male Character, Papa Bear Jethro Gibbs, Parental Jethro Gibbs, Tony DiNozzo & Jethro Gibbs Father-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-06-21 22:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 78,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15567366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionMastersBitch/pseuds/PotionMastersBitch
Summary: When Tony gradually comes to realize he is gay, he retreated further into himself. not knowing how to deal with such foreign feelings.Can Gibbs, as well as the rest of the team, help him realize that nothing is wrong with him?





	1. Chapter 1

Despite being a good ten minutes in the opposite direction the naval yard, Charlotte’s Diner was Gibbs’s customary place to stop for breakfast – both for the quality of its Southern inspired food as well as for its impeccable service and drive toward perfection. For not only was his usual breakfast order comprised of a vast quantity of delicious grease, so too was the ninety-year-old Charlotte a stern task-mistress when it came to see her patrons pleased and well-fed. It was that particular goal that endeared Gibbs most to the small establishment, four generations of women from the same family having never failed to serve his meals and coffees whilst still hot. 

In particular, it was third youngest great-granddaughter that he favored most – the duty Gibbs felt for caring for those that the world had either overlooked or discarded the motivating factor behind such magnanimous decision. For while the tow-headed Sophomore in question was just as quick-witted and sharp-tongued as was the rest of her extended family, fate had seen fit to humble solely her by imprisoning her teeth in conspicuous braces as well as by making her hair an ungovernable mess of tangles and knots. 

“The usual?” Lanora demanded, crooking an ungroomed eyebrow in his direction as she hurried past with a gray tray overfilled with dirty dishes. 

“Yeah.” Gibbs grunted at the back of her head. “Only this time don’t forget the jam.” 

Inconspicuously giving him the finger behind her back, and very nearly dropping her tray as she did so, Lanora scurried off to get his order put in before the church crowd began surging in for the omelet special. Understanding that the harried girl would get no small amount of grief from said patrons, who neither tipped nor spoke politely, Gibbs avowed not to rankle her too severely upon her return for the errant finger she had thrown up at him. 

Subsequently left alone with his only his thoughts, an experience he didn’t much care for, he sighed loudly and leaned back against the booth, inwardly cursing the miserly Gavroche for ever having stolen the days newspaper and preventing its diverting headlines from ever getting into his hands. For Gibbs soon found that without the diversion of the sports page to suitably distract him, his under-stimulated mind soon turned to focusing on the troubling behavior of his SFA – Or, more accurately, the man he had come to think of a son over the long years. 

Ordinally a man possessing an absurd amount of enthusiasm for life, his care-free spirit almost inextinguishable in nature, Tony’s lengthy liaison with Ziva had all but left him a wilted and uninspired creature of late. His dazzling smile no longer quite so bright or believable, and his bright green eyes all but devoid of their usual mischievous gleam, the movie-enthusiast was now more ghost than man. Still reeling from the physical abuse the fiery Israeli had heaped upon him when their relationship had still been undercover, not even the rebound dates his child had been going on of late seemed to revitalize him. Although judging by the scent of mannish perfume that clung to Tony whenever he returned home from such dates, the young man very clearly was not dating the right sort of woman. 

Gibbs would have to talk to the boy soon, he supposed, and find a suitable way to suggest to his agent that perhaps a break in dating would be for the best - at least until his heartache had been given time to subside in its intensity and rawness. A year just wasn’t enough time for that, he ruminated, especially not when his boy had spent an entire eight months worshiping the ground that woman walked upon. Such healing took time. 

“Here you are.” 

Mercifully brought back into reality by Lanora’s prompt return, Gibbs blinked stupidly a few times before moving aside his hands to make room for his plate and coffee. But if Lanora had noticed his uncharacteristic distraction, she did not show it, rather she seemed almost giddy as she set about lying out his breakfast – her loud energy very nearly contagious as she planted a large jar of homemade jam in front of him. 

“Charlotte says, ‘if you’re that goddamn particular about your jam,’ you might as well have the whole damn jar to yourself.” 

Enjoying such a delicious spread far too much not to accept it, momentary loss of dignity be damned, Gibbs quickly moved the blueberry concoction out of the reach of his waitress’s hands. Because as much as he understood when an innocuous joke was being played on him, Tony having given him experience with such occasions, he was absolutely willing to play the ignorant fool if it meant he got to keep the jam. 

“So, Charlotte is in a good mood, then?” Gibbs quipped, holding a protective hand over his jam. 

“For now.” Partheny shrugged, expertly pouring coffee into his thermos. “She won’t be when she finds out Lacey is late again.” 

Far too young to be legally employed anyone else but her in her great-grandmother’s restaurant, the ten-year-old in question had the understandably childish habit of losing track of time and arriving to work a good hour or two later than she had been scheduled. 

“More tips for you.” Gibbs advised, throwing back a large swig of the still-boiling coffee.

“More tips for Dolorous, you mean.” 

A soon-to-be Senior in high-school, and possessive of the smooth black hair the majority of her family claimed ownership to, the aforementioned Dolorous was inarguably a great beauty – her likeness more accurately compared to a fiery sun dwarfing the smaller planets nestled in its shadows and nearly extinguishing the Pluto that was her cousin. That a fierce envy should have been evoked within Lanora at such a blatant monopolization of the family genes was only understandable – if not pitiable in its own way. 

“Beauty fades with time, Kiddo.” He advised, catching sight of her frown. “Education doesn’t.” 

“What good is an education these days?” The teenager scowled, slathering butter unto his hashbrowns for him. “Everyone has one, even the poor.” 

“But not everyone has a Harvard scholarship waiting for them.” Gibbs easily refuted, slapping her hand away from his now perfect hashbrowns. “Come six or seven years, you’ll be writing in New York while your cousins are still stuck working here.” 

While none of Charlotte’s progeny were notably lacking in their education, the sad fact still remained that the majority of them seemed to all but lose their drive the longer they tarried in the family restaurant. In just ten years alone, Gibbs had watched an aspiring veterinarian and concert pianist drop out of their respective collegiate program, the disappointment in their shared brown eyes all but evaporating after spending just a few shifts working in their familiar diner. 

“Your braces will come off soon, too.” Gibbs quickly amended, having not failed to catch Lanora glowering after her elder cousin. 

“Not soon enough.” Lanora groused, using a well-practiced hand to hide the bubble-gum -pink bands entrapping her teeth. 

Having had enough of dealing with the teenager’s pity-party, Gibbs sat up straighter and firmly, but not roughly, slapped the culprit on the back of her head. 

“Enough feeling sorry for yourself, you little shit.” He growled, ignoring her petulant glare. “Would you rather have no teeth at all?” 

While he certainly hadn’t meant to be so rough, at least not whereas a teenager was involved, that particular bit of self-loathing had struck a sore spot within Gibbs. For it would be a year today, if his memory still served him well, that Kate had been shot in the face by Ari Haswari and left to die. And while his agent had inexplicably managed to beat the small odds and survive the attempted assassination, the brutal assault had left her with an awkward gait as well as an unspecified seizure disorder. That Lanora should be so damn resentful of a dental procedure that would leave her prettier than before, while Kate would have to deal with a deformed left eye for the rest of her life, rankled him to no small degree. 

“I’m sorry.” Lanora quickly apologized, wisely sensing she had set him off. “I just hate these things.”

Feeling a bit guilty as he watched the young girl rub away the soreness from the back of her head, Gibbs frowned and set about making things as right as he could. 

“Three more months to go.” Gibbs reminded the Sophomore. “Then you’ll be free to chew all the gum you want.” 

Giving Gibbs an incredulous look, of the variety that he himself used to give his own father, Lanora snorted derisively and shook her head. 

“Is that really what you think teenagers do nowadays?” 

Not-so-fondly reflecting upon all the stupid things he and his friends had once gotten up to, the worst offenses being those that had sent them to the hospital, Gibbs wisely held up his hand to prevent the girl from sharing tales he did not wish to hear. 

“I really don’t want to know what teenagers get up nowadays.”

“Are you sure?” The Sophomore challenged, crooking a brow. “Because just last week my friends and I – “ 

Gibbs was thankfully, though perhaps undeservedly, spared the mortification of listening to the girl’s inappropriate story by the proprietress of the diner – Charlotte’s voice more than sharp and shrill enough to call her great-granddaughter back into line. 

“Lanora, Lacey!” The elderly woman hollered. “Get back in the kitchen! There are potatoes that need peeling!” 

Looking thoroughly cowed, but not defeated, Lanora grinned rather evilly at him. 

“I’ll be back.” She warned. “Just as soon as I tell her Lacey isn’t here.” 

“God be with you.” Gibbs solemnly intoned.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite Ducky’s incessant warnings that such an ‘abomination’ would seal up his arteries with blood-blocking fat and plaque, the sure result of such being a massive heart attack, Gibbs closed his eyes in rapture as he bit into his grease-slathered bacon-and-egg sandwich, the rich cheese Charlotte had used to cement the concoction all-together all but rushing down his fingers even as it coated his rejoicing tongue with flavors he could neither comprehend nor name. Sparing a moment only to feel pity for his food-elitist of a friend, as the Medical Examiner would sadly never know the euphoria such a meal brought to its eater, Gibbs swallowed down his first bite with relish and shuddered in delight as the flavor coated his throat. 

Needing a sip of coffee to clear away the bits of cheesy bacon that lodged themselves to his throat after such a heart bite, as the entire concept of the sandwich was really just one big choking-hazard, Gibbs cracked open his eyes a bit and reached for his age-worn thermos – not at all surprised to find that it had been refilled in the brief moment he had been spaced out. Sure enough, when his mild curiosity prompted him into doing a small bit of surveillance to better deduce who might be to thank for such an act, Lanora’s blonde head came into view as the skinny teenager scurried through the diner toward the front door. 

Mildly alarmed at her unusual haste, as normally only the promise of quitting time could so inspire the apathetic teenager into such a pace, Gibbs set aside his vision-impeding thermos and followed after the hustling girl with his shrewd eyes. To his great relief, if not abject boredom, it was not an ex-boyfriend come to be his ass soundly kicked by the waitress, but the semi-rare appearance of a newcomer at the register that had so hastened her footfalls. 

With hair as dark and red as an aged penny, as well and easy six-foot-five, the unfamiliar patron nearly brought the diner to a complete stand-still as patron and server alike ceased their respective activities to stare unabashedly at the veritable giant of a man. In particular, it was the small horde of young and hormonal teenagers that ogled him the most severely – their audacity only magnified by the fact that their stern ancestor was nowhere near in sight to scold them for their sloth and unabashed lust. 

“Excuse me, miss.” The stranger began, lying a polite hand on Lanora’s shoulder. “I don’t suppose you would have the number for a decent tow-shop, would you?” 

Having spent every second up until that moment staring at the man’s ravished left cheek, where resided an unfortunately large patch of burned and puckered skin, Lanora blinked in surprise when the young man gently shook her shoulder and repeated his earlier query. 

“Don’t call me miss.” Lanora growled, slapping away his errant fingers. “My name is Lanora.” 

“Forgive me.” The redhead indulged, apologetically tucking his hands behind his back. 

Although the earnest apology might have been enough to quell the wrath of any one of her dozens of cousins, Lanora had long since grown to harbor an intense loathing for anyone who dared touch her without explicit consent, an unsavory run-in with a drunken lecher at twelve having been the unfortunate harbinger of such a policy. And though the painfully polite redhead would have no real way of knowing about such an unspoken rule, the beast-like scowl he was now receiving from the harried waitress was more than enough to convey its existence.   
“What’s wrong with your car in the first place?” Lanora demanded, clearly suspicious of his story. 

“It seems I’ve got a flat tire.” The man patiently explained. 

A perpetual curmudgeon when it came to all things not strictly related to his pipe tobacco or key-lime-pie, the elderly Frank Sun sat up straight in the booth across from Gibbs and snorted as loudly and disgustingly as he was able to – very nearly evoking a loss of appetite for everyone in the eatery. 

“Didn’t your father ever teach you how to change a tire, Boy?” 

Pausing only a moment to glare at the instigating octogenarian with eyes the color of a murky swamp, the irises more brown than green, the harassed patron straightened his silken pointedly before opting to address his aged antagonizer. 

“My father is a cripple, Sir.” Pausing for an uncomfortably long amount of time, the duration of which lasted until Frank averted his cataract-clouded eyes to the table, the scarred man then turned back to Lanora. “Aside from that, I’m not really dressed for the sort of work.” 

Meticulously dressed in a three-piece-suit whose quality would rival those his son preferred to dress in, the towering man’s elitist quip was by no means an exaggeration – the result of such a knowledge all but sending Frank into a heated muttering about the ruination of men at the hands of overly-indulgent mothers who seemed not to care if they turned their son’s soft. Wisely anticipating that the habitual nursing home escapee would soon have a coronary if he was not soon suitably distracted from his unfounded wroth, Dolorous quickly rose to the occasion and pacified the irritant with yet another slice of pie.  
“If you can wait half-an-hour, I can help you with that tire.” Lanora magnanimously offered, more soft-hearted than her scowls would lead anyone to believe. 

Having been the one to teach the girl how to change a tire just last summer, Gibbs almost found himself hoping that the man would agree to such a bargain – his desire to see if the teenager’s work would still hold up to his military high-standards after nearly a year nearly an impossible notion to dismiss. 

“I appreciate the offer.” The stranger expressed, his smile genuine. “But I couldn’t let you change my tire for me.” 

“Because I’m a girl?!” 

Quickly souring at such sexist rhetoric, Lanora scowled openly up into the redhead’s face, the pink of braces very nearly visible as she bared her teeth. Seeming unbothered by such hostility, or perhaps just hiding it particularly well, the-man-without-a-functioning-car simply smiled softly at the animalistic display and held up his hands in a gesture of promised good-will.

“No.” The redhead readily assured. “Because it’s not your job to do so.” 

“It could be though.” Lanora persisted, taking in the quality of his suit. “If you paid me enough, that is.” 

Looking far from amused at her candor, but seemingly far too polite to give voice to such a very real grievance, the stranger passive-aggressively glanced at his watch. 

“Look, Miss Lanora, I am running very late.”

“I could change your tire well before a tow-truck even got here.” 

By now thoroughly exasperated, the oversized redhead pinched his nose. 

“The check engine light has come on as well.” He elaborated. “And I’m leaking oil as well.” 

Sensing that she would not get any further in her endeavors, the dream of being handsomely rewarded for her kindness all but evaporated, Lanora frowned derisively and looked longingly out the window where resided the freedom she so clearly craved. 

“You should call a tow-truck then.”

Finally incensed by the complete waste of time his conversation with the teenager had proven itself to be, the unnamed man colored angrily and growled at the girl before spinning of his heel to storm from the establishment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before I get any hate, I am a gay woman. The feelings I am expressing in this story are very real feelings I, myself have felt. They are no means meant to disrespect or deride anyone.

Charles had only just placed his hand upon the splintery diner door when a gruff voice called out to him by name and halted his progress, the harsh and vaguely-familiar baritone absurdly easy to hear even with the customary din of such a low-class eating establishment fighting to subdue it – those such noises being, of course, the gossip exchanged between patron and untrained waitresses as well as muffled cursing emanating from somewhere in the semi-obscured kitchen. 

“Charles Thorpe.” 

It was another unsmiling face that greeted him when he turned around, the eyes of the speaker only marginally warmer than those darker orbs belonging to the waitress who had all but driven him to leave the diner. And while that, in itself, was enough to merit but little interest in a man such as himself, the fact that his addresser possessed the rigid posture of a disciplined military man certainly did. Had he any doubts about the identity of such a man after such an easy investigation, any at all, the fact that the stranger knew him by name was enough to relieve him of such delusions.   
“You must be Agent Gibbs.” Charles stated, shuffling over to the unsmiling man’s booth. 

“Yeah.” The silver-haired agent readily agreed, sipping at his coffee. “Have a seat.” 

Although it was painfully clear that the older gentleman was hoping to intimidate Charles, for what reasons he knew not, Charles held his own and refused to break their jarring eye-contact as he slipped into the seat directly opposite the frowning man. Seeming not to like such boldness, or perhaps having never really grown familiar with having his own intensity matched, Gibbs deepened his scowl and outright glowered at him. But he hoped to have any better results with such an increased effort, he was sadly mistaken, for precious few things could intimidate Charles after his hellish tour in Iraq. 

“Gibbs.” The older man growled, knuckles white as he clutched his thermos. “Just call me Gibbs.” 

“As you wish.” 

Whether the man was just over particular about how he was addressed, or simply evoking an age-old power play, Charles cared not. There were, after all, far worse habits for a man to have. 

“You’re young, Sergeant.” 

While the neutral statement had held but little accusation in its composition, the long years Charles had spent in the service fruitlessly trying to justify his youth to his much-older subordinates under his authority had made his quick to bristle – the remembrances of their resentment and outright hostility still managing to easily provoke a deep rage even after all these years spent as a civilian. 

“Not so young that I don’t know how to do my job.” 

A veritable expert when it came to all things weapon related, particularly explosives, Charles had received a call just last night from the man sitting across from where regarded a bomb (now diffused) strapped to the car of one his agents. And while he was, at first, initially concerned as to why the NCIS was getting him involved on the matter, instead of the FBI, the flattery of having been singled out had quickly coaxed him into agreeing to the job. 

“You can ride with me to the yard, Sergeant.” 

Despite having painstakingly earned that title through hard work and sacrifice, the left-most portion of his face a glaring testament to such a fact, Charles found he couldn’t help but grimace upon hearing himself addressed with such a title after his long years of living life as a civilian – the word having all too frequently been sneered at him via a begrudging respect instilled in his subordinates by those who had lead before him, their disdain and open hostility an all too potent reminder that his team would never be able to respect a queer, even if their faggot of a leader had taken an IED to the face to spare them all significant injury. 

“I suppose I had better.” Charles finally agreed, forcefully subduing the anxiety that bubbled in his gut as a result of conceding control of a vehicle he was riding in someone else. 

Loathe though he was to accept such an intolerable fate, the vexing fact still remained that his car all but inoperable and would need be towed to someone more capable than himself for fixing. That did not mean, however, that Charles’ ire toward his irrational ex lessened by any degree, the foul-little cockroach having been the sure culprit behind such a sudden sabotage. In fact, were it not for his very real need to secure for himself a suitable tow-truck, he would have been at work right that moment ordering a large parcel of glitter to be delivered to his apartment. But before he could so much put the question of towing recommendations to his gruff companion, much less gather the courage to ask if he knew where one might secure an entire gallon of glitter, he was curtailed by the sudden reappearance of Lanora.   
“I’m not hungry.” He informed the girl, his tone, while clipped, perfectly polite. 

“I didn’t ask you if you were hungry.” The blonde curmudgeon growled. “I asked you what you wanted to eat.” 

Absolutely flabbergasted by the blonde girl’s behavior, as the upscale locales he frequented would never permit a server of theirs to be so bold and outrightly hostile, Charles blinked in surprise and struggled to retain a good hold on his manners. 

“You might as well order yourself something.” Gibbs advised, shamelessly encouraging the teenager’s poor behavior. “I’m not leaving this booth until I’ve had my fill of breakfast.” 

Obliging accepting defeat, for the sake of peace-keeping, Charles ordered a simple black coffee as well as one of the oversized cinnamon rolls he had earlier seen on display near the register – their sheer size and godly appearance an almost-painful reminder of the small horde of sisters he had left behind he’d run from home at the wizened old age of fifteen. 

“Shouldn’t we be getting to the yard?” Charles asked, once the surly waitress was safely out of earshot. “It’s very nearly nine.” 

Having been born exactly on time, so claimed his mother on one of the rare occasions she had deemed it fit to speak with him, the thought of his perpetually-early streak being broken by another person’s carelessness nearly drove him to distraction. If one was not early, after all, one was late. 

“We’re in no hurry.” Gibbs dismissed, in between bites of sandwich. “We’ve already caught the guy.” 

Stunned by the casualness of such a confession, Charles nearly dropped the cinnamon roll Lanora had all but thrust into his hands. 

“Then why am I here?” 

Although the promised pay was certainly a great perk, his career as a professor teaching the basics of mechanical engineering at a nearby community college already provided him with more than enough money for his needs and wants. And were it excitement Charles needed, an emotion he had more than enough of, his volunteer work at the local YMCA kept him more than occupied to keep himself from any real sort of trouble. 

“The Director and I want to know how it was made.” Gibbs shrugged. “So does Abby.” 

Assuming that the aforementioned Abby had been the intended victim of such an impersonal execution, Charles frowned. For while certainly not unheard of, it really was quite unusual for such a method to be employed on person alone. Such a grand affair was typically bestowed by a malevolent creator upon a whole horde of people or, at the very least, a specific and meaningful building. That one woman alone should find herself so targeted was a mystery to him, and he could not help but think she was either rather beautiful and provoking of great jealousy or, more likely, decidedly adept at her job of putting criminals away for life. 

“The damn thing was nearly as small as a walnut.” Gibbs remarked, effectively pulling Charles from his musings. “How the hell can something so small be so deadly?” 

Although he was fairly certain the gruff man sought no answer to his question, Charles found he couldn’t help but give answer when the topic was so near and dear to his heart. 

“Weapons tend to shrink with evolving technology.” 

Shrugging away the apparently unsatisfactory answer, Gibbs only further solidified Charles’ theories that the man very likely still made use of flip-phones and pagers to manage his work and home life. 

“And the FBI truly doesn’t want to investigate this matter for themselves?” 

While Charles thought precious little of the exclusive organization, them having refused to hire him upon his resignation from the marines on spurious claims he suffered from a severe form of PTSD, Charles thought even less about the idea of spending time in a federal prison for thwarting the wishes of their higher-ranking member. He had a good job, after all, as well an amazing dog to provide care and love for. 

“I don’t really give a damn about what that agency wants.” 

Resolutely deciding that he would not be concerned about prison time if Gibbs was not, something very easily registered when he judged the expression in the man’s eyes, Charles relaxed in his seat and allowed himself to enjoy a sip of his coffee. For as blunt and caustic as the Marine Gunny was, he knew in his soul that he was not such a man to allow a complete stranger to walk into peril solely for the benefit of a satiated curiosity. 

“You’re really enjoying that roll.” Gibbs commented, more to start up a conversation than to antagonize. 

Politely swallowing down his bite before speaking, Charles dabbed some rouge icing away from his chin and frowned. 

“My last boyfriend had me on a very strict no-sugar diet.”

Reasonably expecting a reaction from his dining companion at the declaration he was gay, as he had grown far too used to being chastised or fetishized over such news, Charles was practically taken aback when Gibbs gave no discernable response other than a small smirk. It was as if had only commented on the fairness of the weather, or perhaps complimented the color of his shirt. 

“He might have better spent his efforts getting you to take care of your car.” 

While he was highly irritated at the insinuation he couldn’t care for his own damn vehicle, the normalcy with which Gibbs addressed him immediately endeared himself to the gruff man – his experiences of such a normalized treatment a rare and precious thing to Charles. 

“My care was in plenty good condition before I kicked that whore out of my house.” He defended, not at all as heated as he could have been. 

“Always hide the car from an angry ex.” Gibbs advised, sounding as casual as if he were offering up advice as to where to pitch a tent. 

As the memories of Micha’s betrayal came flooding into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome, Charles clutched his cup tightly and glowered at the table. 

“That bastard had no right to be angry.” He growled. “I wasn’t the one caught fucking another man in our bed.” 

Though Gibbs choked a bit on his coffee at such a bitter outburst, Charles suspected the reaction had more to do with his vulgarity than the fact he was making reference to his sexual orientation. But, so jaded was he by his years in the service, he found himself provoking the Marine so that he might confirm his suspicions that the older man really was a decent sort of person. 

“You’ve nothing to say to that?” He antagonized, locking eyes with the man. 

Unflinchingly meeting his gaze for a long moment, Gibbs rolled his blue eyes in annoyance. 

“Did you want a goddamn sticker?” 

The answer, while gruff, was by no means of a mocking or patronizing nature and Charles knew, right then, that Agent Gibbs was a character of quality. 

“Usually you military sort are rough about that sort of thing.” He answered, shrugging his shoulders with false casualness. 

Enough time in the forces had taught Charles that lesson early on, the endless soap-beating and constant derision from his peers and superiors a constant reminder that he lived in a nation entirely unwilling to live and let live. 

“Aren’t you a military guy?” Gibbs challenged, failing to rise to the bait. 

“I was.” Charles agreed. “Up until I got my face blown off.” 

While his comment was most certainly an exaggeration, Charles was not far off in his claims. For even without glancing at a reflective surface, he could still just as easily feel the large swath of skin shrapnel had turned into a puckered, scarred, and pasty warzone of ‘skin.’ And even though Gibbs had been polite enough to never break eye-contact to stare at the damaged flesh, the man had now taken his liberties and grimaced at the visage – though sympathy, father than disgust, was the expression most apparent in his eyes. 

“I got on the bad side of an IED.” Charles sighed, touching the scars. “I have been in Iraq for all of six months.” 

Charles frowned as he looked away from the sympathetic eyes out at the trees lining the sidewalk, their once-green leaves now vibrant shades of reds and orange that only served to remind him that it had been at this time, years ago, he had lost half his face for a nation whose residents seemed to hate him for something he had no real control over. 

“You came back.” Gibbs grunted, looking uncomfortable. “It might not have ended so well for you.” 

Though the man clearly meant well, Charles had to bite down on his tongue to keep from lashing out at the agent. For while he had come back, damaged but alive, MacClare, Kingston, and Davies had most certainly not. Worse yet, only a fraction of Greene had come back, both his legs and half an entire arm left behind to rot in the desert as they made their clumsy evacuation. And while the deaths of the others had certainly troubled him, their harassment easy to overlook during their burial, it was Greene’s injury which haunted his thoughts at night – the young man in question having been a decent sort who gave him neither grief nor judgment. The freckled little Catholic had been far too kind for such cruelty, his thoughts more focused on survival and spiritual well-being than hate. He had been so cheery, Charles thought, smiling brightly even in an active warzone. That he, of all soldiers, should now be crippled for life was a cruelty beyond comprehension. 

“I was lucky.” Charles finally managed, still looking at the trees. 

“There’s no shame in that.” Gibbs insisted, awkwardly patting his shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

Having been unable to sleep the night prior, thoughts of his failed relationship with Ziva causing his stomach to churn quite painfully, Tony had all too soon surrendered any hopes for a decent rest and left for work early that morning – his departure time far preceding that of his still snoring father figure. But, he reflected, staring blindly through his overly-bright computer screen, perhaps such an occurrence had been for the best. For if his boss had been awake upon his arising, the grizzled old marine would have surely insisted in dragging Tony along to share a meal at that little dinner he so favored. And while the food of such an establishment was of an admittedly delicious nature, and perhaps even some of the best he had ever tasted, he simply did not think he stomach another moment of Gibbs trying to pry his way into his personal life in his clumsy, yet caring, attempts to discover that which had made Tony so distraught and despondent of late. Such a secret just did not bare sharing with a man whose affections and respect he wished to keep. And if such a sacrifice of secrecy meant his pseudo-father would have to endure his only remaining child’s sullen silences and sudden secretiveness, well, so be it. In the end such unpleasantness would be best for them all. 

Because even if Tony had wished to share with Gibbs the turmoil his latest identity-crises had afflicted upon him these last six months, he could not, his distinct lack of suitable vocabulary and creativity lending themselves to making any such explanations nigh on impossible. For how could he share with an emotionally crippled man, one entirely unfamiliar with speaking of feelings or acknowledging their existence, the jolting feelings that had come over him when he had found himself, just twelve months ago, ogling the man who served him his beer? A man who, up until the point Ziva had taken a tire-iron to his head, had been no more than a tiny blip on his radar. More perplexing yet, how could he ever convey to the grizzled and gruff Marine the panicked euphoria he had felt the first time Juan dared to kiss him – the action having been welcomed and reviled all at the same time even as he worked to delude himself into thinking his feelings toward the bartender were strictly platonic in nature. And what of the bitter tears, mused Tony, what of them? Would it ever be possible for him to tell the Bossman of the anguish that had dripped down his face in salty tears, or of the painful twisting that had assaulted his gut upon the discovery of Juan’s faithlessness? Were there even words available to express such feelings of raw betrayal? 

It was with an angry curse that Tony inwardly chastised himself, his self-loathing for ever having fallen so quickly in love upon his first foray into an alternative-lifestyle a feeling he would never grow to overcome for as long as he lived. How much more a fool could he, a man who had dozens of failed relationships under his belt, be to have deluded himself into thinking he had finally fixed himself well enough so that others might have finally learned to fall in love with him? 

So fixated on these pain-producing riddles was he, Tony almost failed to hear the ominous buzzing coming from the muted cellphone he had apathetically tossed in his desk drawer. Quickly fishing the equipment free from its dark confines, for fear Gibbs would murder him if he ignored a call from his person, no matter how trivial the reason for his calling truly was, Tony nearly pressed the accept button before he saw the all-too-familiar numbers flashing across his screen. 

Were he a weaker man, one with little resolve, he would have hastily stowed the object back in its prison of crumbles papers and inkless pens. Were he a smarter man, he would have realized such act of sheer cowardliness was far more wise than mockable. But, as matters currently stood, Tony was neither of those at the moment, and it was with a growing sense of apprehension that he, at long last, finally accepted the call.   
“How is it that you are awake so early?” 

Ziva’s melodious voice was filled with venom and barely concealed hostility as she addressed him, her prickly tone making it all-too-clear that she had planned to leave him a voicemail rather than hassle herself with addressing the man she now loathed more than her father. 

“I’m at work.” He said icily. “Why are you calling?” 

There was an awkwardly long silence on the other end of the line, and Tony feared, as well as hoped, that he might soon need to hang up to keep Gibbs from making the discovery he was now speaking to the woman who had so often battered him during their relationship. 

“I need you to do something for me.” The Israeli hissed into the phone, the clipped words more order than request. 

Much to Tony’s great vexation, as well as mild concern, he quickly discovered that the sound of Ziva’s ‘angry’ voice still caused him to stiffen in anticipatory fear. Resentful of such a fact, as the Israeli really should have had no power over him after all this time, he quickly found himself rising to meet her challenge head-on – the knowledge that she would never be able to enter NCIS headquarters again emboldening him in a way he had never dared strive toward whilst still living with the remorseless assaulter. 

“I’m never doing anything for you again.” Tony refused, though even as he spoke, he knew he did not mean it. 

He had loved that woman once, after all, had worshiped the very ground she walked upon. There had even been a time, early on in their tumultuous relationship, that Tony would have given up his life in the States and taken off with the fiery Israeli to Paris to spend their days doing naught but sightseeing and lovemaking. God help him, thought he, were Ziva to press the idea of eloping to him once more, he might just give in and agree – if not to salvage their relationship, than to salvage his self-esteem and lay claim to the fact once more that, yet, he was capable of making a woman fall in love with him. 

“Anthony,” She growled into the phone, her cold tone a warning, “I need help with my deportation case.” 

There was a scarcely-concealed animosity in her speech, the raw feelings of rage and desperation behind the worlds making it all but clear that Israeli still blamed him for her approaching deportation. And, had it not been for Gibbs’s constant admonishments to the contrary, he might even had believed such a thing to be true. For, at the end of the day, he had very often trigged her hair-trigger temper by failing to predict and cater to her wants and needs. That she should have so very often slapped him for those very real failures was only expected, his own father having done far worse to him in his childhood. 

“I can’t help you, Ziva.” He sighed, keenly feeling a guilt he knew he should not feel. 

Ignoring his words as she had so often done in their relationship, the Israeli muttered something in Yiddish on the other line before returning to her garbled English a moment later. 

“You will.” She insisted, her accent notably thickening with wrath. “Talk Gibbs into being a character witness for me.” 

Had his mother not taken great strides to impress unto him a respectable amount of manners, Tony might have snorted at the absurd idea that Gibbs would vouch for anyone who had harmed a member of his team – much less Tony, himself. 

“Ziva,” Tony sighed, the word a prayer and a condemnation all at once, “Gibbs couldn’t be talked into putting himself out of fire if that was what he had a mind to do.” 

It was no mere exaggeration he made either, for it had taken the combined efforts of Ducky and Abby, as well as himself, to talk the old-fashioned man into finally upgrading his flip-phone to an iPhone. And as for the switch from antennae-television to cable, well, that fit just didn’t bare thinking about. 

“Anthony.” Ziva growled, making no attempts at diplomacy. 

“No.” Tony sighed, far less firm than he would have liked. 

Although there had been but little force behind his words, his ferocious ex was all too quick to take his understandable denial as an assault against her person. 

“How can you say this?!” Ziva cried, more angered than anguished. “This was all your doing, I will remind you!” 

As their elderly neighbor had been the one to call the police the night their last physical altercation had resulted in his head being split open, the blame his ex-girlfriend was trying to ascribe to him was not only ridiculous, but wrong as well. The only part Tony had been given to play in the fracas had been that of a bleeding victim, his inability to put hands on a woman (even to push her away from himself) having lent itself into his being entirely reliant on the unfamiliar officer who had showed up to assist. 

“You provoked me!” Ziva cried, carrying on with her tirade. “I would not have hit you if you had not made so damn angry!” 

Though he had avowed to himself not to stoop to her level, Tony was powerless to resist the urge to defend himself as he felt his blood pressure shoot up toward the dangerous levels.   
“I forgot to put the toilet seat down, Ziva. You took a tire-iron to my head.” 

“I was not aiming for your head!” The incense Israeli hollered. “You should not have dodged me!” 

Not even sparing the woman a second to correct her misuse of the word ‘dodge,’ Tony swallowed down the greater portion of his anger, as well as his pride, and tried to reason the now cursing woman.   
“Ziva,” He sighed, “Do you even realize how ridiculous you sound right now?” 

Pausing in her lengthy Yiddish diatribe, the majority of which made Tony wish he had never learned to understand the language, Ziva sucked in a deep breath and all but whispered her next words. 

“I will not go back to Israel, Tony.” 

There was a threat in those words, one that turned his blood to ice. 

“Never call me again, Ziva.”


	5. Chapter 5

As it soon turned out, much to Tony’s great fortune, he had ended the hostile conversation not a moment too soon. For mere seconds later, just as he had tossed his offending cellphone into its previous drawer, Gibbs sauntered into the bullpen, his thermos full of steaming coffee in one hand and the remnants of an oversized blueberry muffin in the other. And while there was nothing, in itself, stranger about the Marine’s choice of after-breakfast snack, there was a certain peculiarity to be spoken of when Tony took notice of the towering individual taking up residence directly to his boss’s left. 

Dressed impeccably in an Armani suit the color of slate, the dimensions of which would surely stymie any decent tailor, the veritable giant of a man stood in stark contrast to the plainly dressed man beside him. And the jarring dissimilarities did not end there, either. For whereas Gibbs’s hair was now more gray than anything else, the newcomer's locks were carefully styled and were as vibrant and deep a red as paprika, the vivid coloring all but serving as the perfect catalyst for making his olive-colored eyes stand out even more than they already did. 

“Morning, Boss.” Tony greeted, blushing a bit as he looked away from the unfamiliar man. “Who’s the tag-along?” 

Though he had strived to keep his tone as casual as possible, there was still a certain edge to the words he spoke, its existence an unwelcome betrayal that seemed to convey to all parties present that he was not at all as nonchalant as he was pretending to be. But rather than speak up and give credence to the existence of such bitter feelings by stubbornly denying their place in his heart, Tony looked away from Gibbs’s concern-clouded eyes and played ignorant. 

“Charles Thorpe.” Gibbs grunted, still looking offended at Tony’s blatant secrecy. “He’s here about the bomb strapped to Abby’s hearse.” 

Bristling at the affronted look clouding his father-figure’s vivid blue eyes, Tony stared resolutely at his fingers resting on his keyboard and cursed himself for ever having looked away the computer screen. There was just something about Gibbs’s gaze that his nerves on edge and brought about a panic, the near-hysteria that came with knowing the man could read him as easily as a case-report harrowing to no small degree. But rather than face yet another nonverbal heart-to-heart like the man he was, Tony gave into his cowardice and set about changing the tone of the room with a bit of silliness, such a method having long withstood the test of time in his relatively short life. 

“Well,” Tony grinned, the false smile hurting his lips, “Aren’t you an early bird.” 

Though Charles looked a bit disgruntled at his sudden change in energy, the muscular man took such in stride and even gave him a small smile of his own, the pacifying action revealing just a sliver of his porcelain-white teeth. 

“It’s the early bird that gets the worm.” 

The self-same adage a particular favorite of Gibbs, especially where regarded scolding his son for his once semi-frequent tardiness, Tony grimaced inwardly and issued the same challenge to the redhead he had always used against his father. 

“Yes,” He agreed, his smile of a mischievous nature, “But the early worms get the birds.” 

Still lacking the creativity to offer up any clever retort to such an argument, Gibbs pointedly rolled his eyes and threw his muffin wrapper at him, unfortunately much too far away to have given his child the headslap he much preferred for such incidences. 

“Keep an eye on this idiot while I go and fetch the bomb.” Gibbs instructed the taller stranger. “Don’t let him get into any mischief.” 

Having thus issued his commands, Gibbs left them to their own devices as he sauntered off after the remains of the weapon he had carelessly stowed away in the storage room containing the cold-case files – his implacable reasoning for such an act being the tenuous claims that nobody would mess with something so important if it were hidden in a room nobody willingly entered on their own accord. 

“Don’t worry.” Tony smiled, gradually relaxing the longer his father was gone. “I’ll try to behave.” 

Seeming to delight at his easy playfulness, which was surely a welcome shift in personalities after dealing with a more stoic Gibbs, Charles shook his head in feigned disappointment as he made his way over to Tony’s desk. 

“Is the promise of good behavior all I’m going to get out of you?” The weapons expert queried, quirking a perfectly-groomed eyebrow in his direction. 

Tilting his head back to meet the man’s amused gaze, a sensation he was entirely unfamiliar with being an easy six feet tall himself, Tony schooled his mouth into a well-practiced smirk and met the harmless challenge head-on. 

“It’s more effort than most people would get.” He assured the scarred man. 

And, in all truth, it was no mere exaggeration he had made, either – for a painfully long adolescence spent being shipped off to one stuffy boarding school after another had soon seen him acting the part of class-clown, the stifling strictness and lack individuality inside such lifeless establishments having precipitated such a personality-flaw and all but solidified its existence throughout the long years of being punished for speaking out of turn and being giving censure for giving voice to any errant thoughts that didn’t quite align with the thoughts of his superiors. It was either become a clown, mused Tony, or become utterly emotionless. 

“Consider me flattered.” Charles beamed, his perfect teeth now on full-display. 

More than just a little flustered at the innocent action, as the warm expression brought about a certain twinkle to Charles’s dark-green eyes, Tony’s long fingers suddenly turned clumsy and slipped off his keyboard without warning, the normally graceful digits still absurdly trembling even as he hastily removed from view and thrust them beneath his thighs to still their incessant tremors – an unwished for phenomenon that only worsened by several degreed when the emboldened weapons expert took for himself the liberty of making the corner of Tony’s desk into a chair perfectly suitable for perching. 

Seemingly unconcerned with the turmoil he had just afflicted on his conversational partner, or perhaps simply ignoring such a result in favor of blissful ignorance, Charles leaned back a bit to better lessen their height disparity and plucked up the age-worn baseball Tony kept on his desk for good luck. 

“What position do you play?” Charles questioned, twisting the aged ball about in his hand for better examination. 

Seeing as the ball was a cherished memento from the first ball-game Gibbs had ever taken him to, the joyous even seeming almost a lifetime ago, Tony tensed as he watched the sphere undergo such intense scrutiny – the very childish fear that the ball would dissolve in less reverent hands niggling its way into his minds. 

“I’m usually the shortstop.” Tony explained, his concerned eyes never once leaving the baseball. “But I’m more into football, actually.” 

“You’re a quarterback, aren’t you?” Charles pressed, finally returning the ball to its proper place. 

Before Tony could confirm such an easily-made assumption, much less launch into the explanation that he had played the part of a linebacker as well, Gibbs returned with both weapon and an answer. 

“He could’ve played professional if he hadn’t wrecked his knee his Senior year.” Gibbs bragged, brusquely depositing the boxed bomb into Charles’s lap. 

Unable to tolerate the fierce look of pride in his boss’s eyes, as he knew his lies and secrecy had rendered him undeserving of such unconditional accolades, Tony bit down hard on his tongue in a gesture of private penance and wished, for the hundredth time that long year, that he was able to explain to Gibbs the chaos currently afflicting his very being. 

“Your knee can’t be that bad if you’re an active agent.” Charles reasoned, no trace of doubt in the words. 

“No.” Tony agreed, his smile small but thankful. 

His high-school injury could have been much worse after all, the painful injury perhaps permanently debilitating rather than just a minor nuisance that prevented his childhood dream of going pro and playing for the Giants. 

“You must play basketball as well, yes?” Charles persisted, sizing him up one more. “A point-guard, perhaps?” 

“I do play.” Tony readily agreed, giving a modest shrug of his shoulders. 

“That’s great!” Charles beamed, lying a heavy hand on his shoulder. “My team is short a point-guard for our YMCA tournament next weekend. You should fill in.” 

Rendered a bit breathless by the weight now resting on his shoulder, Tony’s tongue became uncomfortable heavy in his mouth. 

“You’re asking a complete stranger to fill-in for your team?” 

Without missing so much as a beat, Charles looked him dead in the eyes before answering. 

“I wouldn’t ask just any stranger.” The taller man assured, his words as thick and sweet as the honey Tony smeared on his toast. “Besides, I’d rather give up the good half of my face then forfeit.” 

Though he knew it was painfully rude to do so, Tony’s eyes went unbidden to Charles’s ravished left cheek, the puckered landscape having all that conversation been threatening to pull his focus. 

“I – I don’t think my conscience could allow that.” Tony stammered, quickly yanking his eyes from the offending scene. 

If Charles had noticed his brief departure from politeness, he showed no signs of it as he gradually removed his hand and rose to stand. 

“Great.” He grinned. “The team will be elated.”


	6. Chapter 6

So relieved was Charles to have secured a suitable replacement for his fast-approaching basketball game, as well as utterly euphoric at having solidified for himself the promise of seeing Tony again, he soon found (much to his great embarrassment) that it was necessary to bite down on his tongue to keep his face schooled into a passive expression of polite gratitude rather than the visage of great excitement that his face was fighting to display. 

“If you two are finished discussing dates on company time, we have a bomb that needs looking at.” 

While the Marine-Gunny growled out his thinly-veiled insult, one quick glance at his expressive eyes showed Charles there was neither heat nor malice behind the words – only impatience, the unpleasant anxieties of such an emotion a sensation that he, himself, understood all too well after half a childhood spent pining for the freedom only life away from the compound could provide him. It was the absurd sense that if one kept moving, never once allowing themselves to be still for even a moment, that all the unpleasantness of a horrific past could be outraced and perhaps even, in time, forgotten altogether. 

But though he knew the scolding to be harmless, having almost expected such a reprimand from a man so grizzled, Tony seemed absurdly rattled by the quip, his smooth cheeks almost instantaneously erupting into a vibrant shade of rose as he choked on his coffee and glared weakly at his boss. Feeling his own blood turn dangerously warm at the sight of such pleasantly flushed cheeks, the sight evoking several remembrances of first dates long since passed, Charles turned quickly away from the enticing sight and all but yanked the box containing the disassembled bomb out of Gibbs’s hand. 

“Do you have a table I could commandeer for the next three hours or so?” Charles pestered, still finding himself unable to look anywhere near Tony. 

Pausing only momentarily to give him a rather queer look, the suspicion in such an omnipotent expression greatly unsettling him, Gibbs scowled and gestured a well-organized desk all but devoid of the usual clutter one might expect to find in a person’s work-station. 

“You can have Kate’s desk.” Gibbs judiciously volunteered. “She’s not coming in until noon.” 

Having been given the much-needed permission to take-over a suitable workspace, Charles shifted the semi-soggy box in his hands for better grip and made his way over the spotless desk, a slight frown threatening to subdue his polite smile as he shamelessly poured the shards of metal and plastic unto the formerly pristine desktop. Making a mental note to return the space back to its original state the very moment he was finished with the task at hand, as well as considering leaving behind a note of apology, Charles then planted himself in the well-cushioned shrivel chair and fiddled about with the handle until, at last, his knees were no longer unbearably pressed up against the underside of the desk. 

“You’re just going to go at it like it’s a goddamn jigsaw puzzle?” 

Already having begun to conceptualize within his mind a vague outline of what shape the weapon must have surely taken, Charles frowned and the interruption and set aside a particularly interesting piece of shrapnel before answering the former Marine. 

“It’s a peculiar process, but it works.” He calmly assured, moving his fingers carefully about to maneuver the small pieces into their proper piles. “Trust me.” 

While ordinarily the very thought of having his competency questioned would have provoked in him feelings of rage so strong they were insuppressible, as such interrogations were usually brought about by no small sense of homophobia, Charles felt no such ire as he pawed through the charred remnants of the weapon sitting before him. For he knew, almost intrinsically, that Gibbs queries were brought about by harmless curiosity and incredulity rather than any irrational hatred of prejudices. 

“I don’t know if we should trust him, Boss.” Tony voiced, the words playful and full of mischief. “He doesn’t have a very honest face.” 

“Is it because I have freckles?” Charles returned, upholding his end of the banter. 

A full smile spread across the young agent’s face then, the unrestrained emotion sending his green eyes to twinkling in a manner most attractive and breath-stealing. But rather than leave the pleasant moment as it was, unsullied and perfect, Tony seemed to almost determined to destroy it, clearly all too uncomfortable with the concept of letting matters be in their organic state.

“Your freckles aren’t the problem.” The brunette rebuttled, looking pointedly at his hair. 

Though Charles knew perfectly well that the young man was speaking of the loud redness of his hair, the likes of which had very often lead to baseless accusations of soullessness and general debauchery, he decided to play about with the handsome man – suitably encouraged in such a pursuit by the way in which said individual seemed to delight in such harmless banter. 

“I would have never thought you a man obsessed with looks.” He challenged, edging up his soft fingers to stroke the scars decorating his face. 

Almost immediately sensing he had caused offense where none had been delivered, effectively souring Charles’s plans, Tony’s mouth dropped open in a most undignified manner as a film of guilt set about clouding his lovely eyes. 

“I – I wasn’t talking about your scars.” He persisted. “I hardly noticed them.” 

While it was a damnable lie he spoke, Charles found he had not the energy nor the inclination to allow any real disapproval to come about at such impoliteness. For it had not been intolerable pity which had prompted the man to give voice to such a kind-hearted lie, nor any shameless attempt at brown-nosing. No, such deception had come from a place of sympathy, its motivations having sprung forth from the charming agent’s desire not to procure any hurt feelings from a man who had done him no harm. 

“Would you like to know how I got these scars?” 

Not knowing how else to diffuse the sudden awkwardness in the room, Charles found himself veering toward the age-old method of ripping the bandage off, his own propensity toward keeping sweet evoking within him great feelings of anxiety whenever it came to his not knowing the right thing to say or do. 

“Was your father a drinker?” 

Startled back into the now by such an absurd question, Charles frowned at the erroneous assumption and sought an answer to how such a thought might have come about. 

“Drinking was not a vice my father could lay claim to.” 

In all honesty, it had been zealotry which most afflicted his father, the passionate rage which stemmed forth from religion very often prompting him to mete out harsh punishments to his bakers-dozen of children whenever such delusions of grandeur proved too powerful for reason and mercy to subdue. 

“Did you have a wife who worried too much?” 

It was only then that Charles realized where such a ridiculous line of questioning came from, his relief at such a belated realization only dwarfed in comparison by his embarrassment. 

“I don’t bat for that team.” He informed the movie-quoting man, his usage of a pun incidental but still well-placed. 

Such a revelation was, he soon realized, perhaps not at all as trivial as he had become accustomed to seeing it. For while he had long ago come to terms with such an important aspect of his being, his early teens being the harbinger of such realizations, it stood to reason that a complete stranger would not be entirely comfortable with such blunt announcements of sexuality when such a thing was not specifically inquired after. 

But whereas he had come to expect certain reactions from particular sorts of people, those being the usual hostility or feigned indifference, Tony’s response took the form of one he had not once been privy to seeing. In fact, had Charles not known any better, he might have said such an expression denoted the fear and anxieties of one about to be unwillingly outed – both to himself, as well as to an audience. 

It was with burgeoning sense of hope, as well as anxiety, that Charles took since signs to mean that might reasonably expect more than the hope of mere friendship from such a singular young man.


	7. Chapter 7

Though Gibbs had long since given up the tedious and impractical practice of talking through any difficult feelings and emotions he or a loved one might be experiencing, such an outdated art having all but vanished after his young daughter’s untimely death, his innate fatherly instincts compelled him to rekindle such a retired practice as doing so seemed all but vital to his son’s mental health and general well-being. For as distasteful and as uncomfortable as he found such a emotional practice to be, which was an amount that tended toward absurdity, he had quickly and assuredly convinced himself that any such awkwardness he experienced would be greatly eclipsed by grief were Tony to succumb to his melancholy and allow it to take a more decidedly more deadly turn. 

It was with such morbid thoughts in mind that he left the bullpen to seek out Ducky, the wizened old man’s advice having several times been a Godsend for him throughout their decades-long friendship. For not only had the deeply empathetic Scottish man inexplicably managed to keep him afloat and relatively grounded during Tony’s insufferably long hospitalization with the deadly plague, a hellish time when both panic and anxiety had threatened to send him over the brink into insanity, so too had the compassionate Medical Examiner finally gotten him to admit (at least to himself) that he viewed his second-in-command as the son he had never been given the chance to have Shannon after her bout with secondary-infertility and her untimely death. 

Quickly pushing away such depressing thoughts, as they were only self-serving and unhelpful at the moment, Gibbs strode purposely into the chilly morgue, resisting all the while the fierce urge to rub even the tiniest bit of warmth back into exposed arms as he continued further into the large room in pursuit of his greatest friend. 

As he might have reasonably expected, along with literally anyone else who had worked in the same building for anymore than a few months, he soon found Ducky perched atop his favorite autopsy table, a decidedly nostalgic look upon his wrinkled face as he sipped as his trademark chamomile tea and regaled an entranced Palmer with one of his rambling tales about the vast jungles of Vietnam and all the unique flora and fauna that could be found within such when once one wasn’t currently being shot at or tending to victims of horrific napalm-burnings.

“Ah, Jethro.” Ducky grinned, politely cutting short his narrative upon the entrance of his colleague. “You’re just in time to hear the end of my story detailing the nature of Vietnamese gum trees and their great usefulness to the world as a whole.” 

Not knowing any better way in which to politely excuse himself from hearing such a stale tale, one that would surely segue off into several exhausting tangents before it came to its unclimactic finish, Gibbs opted to frown as he looked pointedly at the now-pale autopsy assistant. 

“I think I’ve already heard that one.” Gibbs fibbed, a slight twinge of guilt deepening his frown. 

Fortunately for all parties involved, especially the now-trembling Palmer, Ducky seemed to recognize a nonverbal request for privacy when one presented itself. Gravely setting aside his tea, which naught but matters of the utmost severity could compel him to do, the intuitive man rose slowly to his feet and fondly patted his cowering assistant on the shoulder. 

“I do believe I must need share the rest of my break with Jethro, Dear Boy.” The skinny man apologized, adding yet another pat for good measure. “But rest assured, I shall soon return and resume, for you, my tale of rare floras.” 

Although the young man momentarily resembled in countenance a child denied his dessert for poor behavior, Palmer quickly recovered his docile and timid nature when Ducky tenderly patted his cheek and awarded him an indulging smile for all his troubles. Thus properly pacified, at least for the moment, the bespectacled man finally took his leave of them as he scurried off to tend to one the unfortunate ‘visitors’ gracing the morgue – the young victim in question sporting several grizzly wounds to both face and stomach. 

“Let us away to my office, shall we?” Ducky suggested, making a grand gesture with his arm. 

While the brief stroll to the Medical Examiner’s impossibly-cluttered office was but of a laughably short distance, its entirety lasting no more than sixty quickly-elapsed seconds, Gibbs soon found, much to his consternation, that such a timeframe was intolerable for one desperately trying to devise a way in which one might get polite conversation steered toward the more taboo direction they wished such a discussion to take – a feat more than difficult when one’s conversational partner was particularly, and damnably, inclined toward going off on senseless tangents. 

“Well now,” Ducky hummed, closing the door firmly behind them, “What has brought us to take such serious measures?” 

Thus inquired, Ducky promptly seated himself atop his dusty desk and gracefully crossed his legs, his expression a curious and patient one as he watched his visitor awkwardly accept the only semi-functional chair in the seldom-used room. And though he had taken such a position numerous times, especially so where regarded Tony, such an uneven and manufactured height disparity never failed to make him feel somewhat small and unnerved. 

“Jethro,” Said Ducky rather seriously, when after several minutes he had not yet spoken a single word, “If this discreet meeting is about your inability to sleep at night, I am going to have to recommend, once more, that you abstain from partaking of any caffeine after the afternoon has given way to evening.”

The Scottish man gave him a sympathetic, yet stern, look as he delivered the unsolicited medical advice and Gibbs, all too uncomfortable with such undeserved sympathies where regarded his caffeine-consumption, simply frowned in reply and wished (most ardently) that the topic he was about to broach with his friend really was as mild and uneventful as something like poor dietary habits.   
“It’s not about me, Ducky.” Gibbs sighed, rubbing his temples. “It’s about Tony.”

Immediately curtailing whatever stern lecture he had surely been prepared to give, the Medical Examiner shifted a bit until he found a more comfortable position and leveled Gibbs with a friendly, if not exhausted, look. 

“Jethro,” Began the Scottish man, looking minutely peeved, “If you have come to me to discuss the cold young Anthony has been battling for the last week, I am afraid I shall have to once more send you away with the news that there is naught that can be done for such a simple malady.” 

Only minorly insulted at the insinuation that he might have been overreacting to the sudden illness that had given his child a stuffy nose and sore throat, Gibbs prudently pushed his small ire aside and moved, instead, to clarify the reason behind such an impromptu meeting. 

“It’s not about his damn cold, Ducky.” He grumbled, more harshly than was strictly necessary. “It’s about – “

There Gibbs cut himself short, not quite knowing how to start such a loaded conversation without causing, or receiving, any insult or censure. For while he knew well enough that Ducky shared with Tony the same taboo orientation, the former having come out to him ages ago, so too did he understand that the bespectacled man was rather sensitive about such a topic and heartily preferred not to discuss it at length – as if by not speaking of such an important aspect of oneself, that feature would simply fail to exist. 

“He’s been…so subdued lately.” Gibbs finally managed, inwardly cringing at the weakness of such an explanation. 

For if Gibbs was being completely honest with himself, something that he greatly struggled with at times, Tony’s frequent forays into sullen silences were quickly evolving into outright sobbing fests whenever he deluded himself into thinking he was alone, the jarring sounds of muffled cries very easily detected by the keen ears his boy fought to conceal them from. 

“I fear that is to be expected, Jethro.” Ducky advised, not unkindly. “I’m afraid Ziva did quite the number on your poor boy’s already fractured self-esteem.” 

Thoroughly defeated by such sound logic, Gibbs sighed aloud his frustration and gave in to the urge to bury his face in his hands. 

“It’s been a goddamn year, Ducky.” 

“He loved her, Jethro.” The Medical Examiner calmly returned. “He may still.” 

Shuddering at the very real possibility that his child might still be infatuated with the woman who had so nefariously ensnared him via seduction and shameless manipulations, Gibbs briefly pondered if it might not be best, perhaps, to deal with that particular problem before making any attempts to approach the other. But, he ruminated, such a decision on which approach to best take would simply have to wait until he had all the information necessary on both matters. 

“She didn’t deserve him.” Gibbs growled, anger deepening his voice. “She never did.” 

“I cannot rightfully say that I disagree.” His friend heartily obliged, giving his shoulder a brief pat. 

Though he welcomed the friendly contact, Gibbs was utterly powerless to stem the tide of anger that washed over his body as he recalled all the various bruises that hellhound had put on his child’s body as well as all the verbal tirades he had unavoidably been made a part of whenever the Israeli called Tony at work to curse him out over some perceived failing such as forgetting to turn the lights off or leaving the toothpaste uncapped. And then, of course, there was the coup-de-grace of that literal demon-spawn splitting his son’s head open with tire-iron – the inevitable precursor to that particular event being, of course, Tony’s ‘inexcusable failure’ to put down the toilet lid.

“Ducky – “ Gibbs suddenly started, shaking his head, “Let’s not speak of her.” 

“Indeed.” His friend readily agreed. “Have you another topic in mind?” 

Whether Gibbs was relieved or anxious to have been given such an easy opening, he could not reasonably say. He knew only that he must take the opportunity as it was, as history easily showed one might not present itself again for quite a while. 

“Could I ask you a question without you getting angry at me?” Gibbs ventured, for once seeking permission first. 

Seeming to contemplate the question, Ducky leaned back a bit and pursed him lips, staying in such a pose until, at last, he came to a decision. 

“You may certainly ask me a question, Jethro.” He allowed. “Though I cannot guarantee I will not become angry should I find it to be impertinent. My magnanimity can only endure so much, I fear.” 

Having been given the much-desired permission, Gibbs launched into his question without hesitation. 

“Do you think Tony is – “ 

When Gibbs reasonably faltered, Ducky quickly stepped in to assist. 

“Do I think Anthony is depressed?” He queried. “Yes, I should certainly so.” Pausing for added effect, he then added. “Will you now heed my advice and bully him into seeing a therapist?”

Though he held no stock in talking to shrinks, Gibbs had already been working on such a scheme and subsequently found the suggestion more annoying than it truly was. 

“No.” Gibbs sighed, quickly becoming frustrated. “I think Tony is – Could I just ask you my question already?” 

“That is the surest way of getting it answered.” Ducky calmly replied, looking no at all offended by his sharp tone. 

Figuring it best to rip the proverbial bandage off instead of senselessly beating about the bush, Gibbs cleared his throat a few times before finally forcing out the question. 

“How – how did you know you weren’t…particularly…inclined toward women?” 

Despite having refused to make eye-contact with the Scottish man as he pressed his query, Gibbs could not, and did not, fail to feel a set of curious eyes staring at him. But rather than make any inquiries of his own as to how such a question might have come into existence, Ducky thankfully refused to play difficult and promptly gave his answer. 

“I do believe I’ve always known, at least to some degree.” 

“There wasn’t some grand ‘ah-hah’ moment?” Gibbs interrogated, having hoped for a more succinct answer. 

“I suppose snogging Cecil Albridge in my fourth-year of school solidified for me my orientation.” 

There settled into the dusty room then a profound silence, as Ducky no doubt reflected upon his first kiss and Gibbs moodily contemplated the potential secrets and reasonings behind a cologne-drenched Tony stumbling home at all hours of the night – reeking of a scent that was not his own and sporting several interesting hickeys in places that were not at all the norm. And while those many instances, in of themselves, might have easily been reasoned away by the assumptions that Tony was simply dating a woman with poor taste in perfumes and interesting fetishes, the many evenings in which his son had been dropped off by some strange man or another were not so easily explained away. Nor, he reflected, was the way in which Tony had so effortlessly and unaffectedly flirted with Charles.


	8. Chapter 8

When at last the unyielding awkwardness in the room became to prove itself completely intolerable, its absurd intensity and general unpleasantness having mercilessly drawn both men into pensive thoughts they harshly resented, Gibbs found his courage and cleared his throat, causing the distracted Medical Examiner to jerk in surprise and knock a small container of pencils off his cluttered desk with an errant elbow. Stooping to retrieve the fallen writing utensils, as he was closer to the ground and in much more need of a distraction than his peer, Gibbs took his time in returning the number two’s back into their proper home before he deigned to sit up in his chair once more. It was to his great discomfort, as well as chagrin, that Ducky’s pressing gaze was there to greet him when he rose. 

And so, seeing no way in which he might easily evade such an ensnaring expression, as well as having no great desire to disrupt the pointed direction their conversation was now taking, Gibbs steeled himself and pressed forward with all the inner-strength he had available to himself – praying, all the while, that his good friend would be able to constrain himself from anger and see reason behind such impertinent questioning. 

“If I thought – If I thought someone were – you know…. ‘that way’ … would it be out of line for me to simply ask and confirm?” 

Though he might have once used his great interrogation skills on Tony to weasel out any secrets the younger man thought to keep to himself, the likes of which involved confessing to any harmful of dangerous behaviors, Gibbs simply didn’t think such a method would work for this particular request for information – especially not nowadays, when his withdrawn son seemed all but determined to keep everything, from his choice of breakfast to evening plans, from him. 

“Good Heavens, yes!” Ducky exclaimed, his face reddening with such a rebuke. “That would be the very height of impropriety, indeed!” 

Although he most certainly did not enjoy the harshness of his closest friend’s tone when he had meant absolutely nothing harmful with such an innocent question, Gibbs took the heated rebuke in stride. For while such censure certainly hadn’t been earned, it stood to reason that such a line of questioning agitated the Scottish man – the sure remembrances of his own mother shipping him off to boarding school after a similar interrogation surely still fresh in his mind despite the length of time that had passed. 

“What if…What if I’m positively sure that they are… ‘that way.’”

Despite knowing that the words ‘homosexual’ and ‘gay’ were not truly slurs in nature, Gibbs still found his tongue tripping over such words though he worked hard to power through such reservations. 

“Jethro,” Ducky scowled, his normally even voice trembling with anger, “Even if you witnessed this person in a carnal act with another person of the same sex, it would not at all be fitting of you to make such inquiries.” Seeming to recover himself a bit, the offended man pressed onward. “I am afraid you must simply let them come to you with such information.”

While he had certainly expected such an answer, had downright feared such an answer, Gibbs found the forewarning did little to quell his disappointment at the unsatisfactory response. For as stoic and resilient as he knew himself to be, there was only so much disappointment a parent could face when it came to seeing their child suffer. 

“And how long will that take?” He growled, his frustration leaking out. “I’m his goddamn father, Ducky. It shouldn’t be this hard.” 

It all truthfulness, it had almost been easier dealing with Kelly getting her young heart broken in first-grade by some dumbass second-grader who thought to set her aside for another ‘prettier’ girl. At least then his daughter had been aware of her own feelings, as well as comfortable enough with them to share their existence and nature with her father. There had been no sullen silences then, nor abject refusal to confide and rid herself of any unpleasant. No, his Little Bird had divulged all to him, in as many garbled details as a seven-year could manage as he hugged her tightly and resentfully promised not to tear that asshole kid limb from limb. He only wished Tony could do the same. 

“While I would normally chastise you for such an impulsive outing, I will refrain from doing so seeing as it was me, a fellow homosexual, you chose to divulge that information to.” 

Grateful for such an undeserved charity, yet still distraught as the conversation had failed to give him any suitable solutions to the problem at hand, Gibbs grabbed up an unsharpened pencil and began to fiddle about with it, flicking the skinny wooden object between his fingers as he worked to gather his thoughts into a more concise baseline. 

“He’d be happier if he would just…talk it out with me.” Gibbs argued, trying to justify his want for a calm confrontation. 

Without missing a beat, Ducky gave his answer.

“Has it occurred to you that Anthony might not yet be ready to out himself?” The Scottish man pressed, looking now more weary than upset. “That it may just be that he has not yet come to terms with such a fact himself?” 

“Come to terms?” Gibbs parroted, a scoff in his voice. “For God’s sake, Duck, he was outright flirting with that man I brought to look at Abby’s bomb!” 

In fact, now that he was gone and the two young men had the bullpen all to themselves, he was pretty sure the flirting would have only gotten far more heavy-handed and bold. 

“Jethro,” Ducky sighed, “People often flirt without ever realizing they are doing so. Why should it not be the same for young Anthony, who has always delighted in flirting with anyone with a pulse?”

Unable to argue against his claims that Tony was a flirt, an unrepentant one at that, Gibbs let the harmless accusation go and once more steered the conversation back to the crux of the matter. 

“I can’t…I can’t just watch him suffer like this, Duck. There has to be something I can do.” 

“Your boy will come around eventually, Jethro.” His friend soothed, once more patting his shoulder. “Until then, you must simply wait. Wait, and be there for him when he does come about to sharing with you his feelings.” 

Having once argued with Shannon that a boy would be far easier to deal with than a girl, when he had thought to first coax her into having another child in the hopes of a son, Gibbs heartily cursed his past self for such nonsense and resolved to tell anyone who should ask about such a superstition that they were just as stupid as he had once been. 

“You don’t…You don’t think he’s…afraid of how I would react, do you?”

Though Gibbs could take most slights in stride, the very thought that his son might fear his reaction to his coming out grieved him to no end.

“I cannot speak for you child, Jethro. All I can say is this: Anthony trusts you with his very life. I think that, in itself, speaks of the high regard he has for you.”


	9. Chapter 9

The Cloak and Stagger was very nearly empty as Tony sleepily stumbled his way inside, the fetid smell of alcohol and vomit only further serving to twist his already roiling stomach into even more painful knots – the variety and likes of which he had not experienced since the days he had once spent trying to conceal Ziva’s abuse of his person from the team. Coincidentally enough, much to his great discomposure, Gibbs had been the harbinger of such current knots - just as he had once been the culprit a full year ago directly after the tire-iron incident wherein he had been recruited into driving him into the hospital. 

But rather than abject parental concern having motivated his lengthy and concerned spiel as it had back then, his bosses great guilt at having failed to notice such signs having motivated him into confessing to Tony that he blamed himself for such assaults, it had been impatient frustration that Gibbs had met with that evening when informed his pseudo-son was going out that evening for a bit of drinking with his ‘friends.’ And whether it was the fact that he knew Tony was outright lying to him, or the hurt with being blown for yet another evening, he could not outright say – he knew only that the anger his father had been holding in had erupted outright into hostility at the moment and a ferocious argument had ensued. 

Not only had arguments of him being a gutless and shameless liar ensued, the likes of which had them both red-faced and fuming, so too had he leveled back counter-claims of his father being a tyrannical fascist – an argument, while he hadn’t really felt was exactly true, had only come about after a long hour of his boss trying to force from him the reasons behind his melancholy and reclusive behavior. 

And while he would have normally stormed away into his bedroom to wait out the hostility, just as Gibbs would have stormed into the basement to labor away his anger, Tony found he just could not stay under the same roof as the incensed man after being accused of having no trust in the man who had served as his father for many long years. Not only was the remark a low blow, tossed out in the midst of a powerful rage, it was simply and cruelly patently untrue. The fact that Gibbs believed such a thing to be true had almost been too much to bare. 

Thus was the reason he was now at one of the seediest bars in a ten-mile radius, his desire for friendlier faces, as well as alcohol, having proven itself uncontainable. Sidling up to the counter for that express purpose, as there awaited him a stiff drink as well as the ever-amiable Juan, Tony forced away all feelings of guilt and regret and claimed the least-wobbly stool available to him. 

“You’re out late.” Juan grumbled, ambling over to him with a dusty bottle of whiskey. 

Obviously still miffed at their latest disaster of a meeting, wherein Tony had discovered said man with another man’s tongue down his throat, Juan’s expression was less than friendly as he sloppily poured a half-measure of whiskey into a dirty and cracked glass. 

“I wanted to see you before you took off for home.” Tony admitted, going for broke. “I thought we could catch an early breakfast.” 

“I’m going to sleep as soon as I’m done here.” Juan dismissed, his tone and the expression in his eyes decidedly chilly. 

Thoroughly defeated at the unexpected answer, Tony flinched a bit at the harshness and wordlessly threw back his meagre portion of liquor, wondering all the while if one his many past girlfriends would be in the mood for a late-night visit. Because while he certainly didn’t want to have to force himself into performing carnal acts for the benefit of such women, he most certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening in his father’s house. And if that simply meant playing the part of a male chauvinist bent on a midnight booty call, well, so be it. Such a thing wouldn’t even be in the ten list of bad things he had done. 

But before he could so much as fetch his cellphone free from his pocket, much less peruse the long list of women still in his contacts, Juan was commanding his attention once more, his work-hardened hand on his wrist before he could even move it away from his beverage. 

“Why don’t you wait for me in my car?” The Hispanic man suggested. “I’ll be out in fifteen minutes – we can stay at my place tonight.” 

Knowing what such a suggestion entailed, Tony almost declined the self-serving option, his pride (while currently greatly diminished) not at all non-existent. But at the last moment, he acquiesced, reluctantly accepting the car keys being forcefully pressed into his hand with only a frown to denote his hesitation. But if Juan noticed such a reaction, he showed no signs of it, rather his usual smarmy smile was back on his face as he hurried off to tend to one of his better tipping patrons. 

Stifling not a violent surge of jealousy as he watched the dark-haired man flirt openly with the pretty young girl, Tony gripped the keys tightly in his hands, their little pointy divots cutting shallow holes into his palm as he stalked off outside and into the pothole-ridden parking lot. 

Easily locating the bartender’s aforementioned car, as it was an ugly green monstrosity ridden with rust, he then slipped into the passenger-seat, his sensitive nose crinkling up a bit as he looked at the fast-food garbage pooled on the floor and the dusty dashboard. He was being prissy, he knew, as well as vain, but God help him, no car deserved to be treated in such an irreverent manner.   
He was thankfully spared of his great inclinations to clean up the messy vehicle himself by Juan’s early return, the unexpected jerking open of the car door startling him into dropping the napkin he was using up the dashboard. 

“Juan – “ Tony pipped, fully prepared to excuse his condescending action by claiming there had been a bee on the dash. 

“No words.” The skinnier man interrupted, eyes wide and full of lust. 

Before Tony how to respond to such a demand, Juan’s buttery soft lips were instantly upon his own rougher set, hungry and demanded as their owner pushed his body atop him and pinned his against the passenger-side door. Thrown off-guard by the sudden assault, having not expected such amorous behavior so soon after their explosive row only weeks ago, Tony went limp at first as he struggled to contemplate what was taking place. When at last he recovered himself, at least well enough to understand that he was not at all in the mood for such an activity, as Juan would surely expect it to lead to sex, such being an unfamiliar activity he just wasn’t ready for, Tony made to jerk his face away from the assumptive kisses. 

When that earned him a ravenous and angry bit to his bottom lip, the harshness of which reminded him of Ziva’s painful lovemaking, Tony stiffened and angry shoved the smaller body away from him. 

“Juan – “ 

Once more interrupted by the impatient man’s lips being violently shoved against his own, as well as an errant tongue being shoved into his mouth, Tony bristled and more forcefully shoved the culprit away. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Tony demanded, swiping the spit away from his lips. 

Looking dangerously near to enraged, Juan colored brightly and glowered at him. 

“You’re a tease, DiNozzo.” He accused, the words a glower. “A goddamn tease.” 

Not liking those accusations anymore than he had his father’s, Tony reached behind and wrenched the door open with a flourish, fighting with himself to keep from slugging the perpetrator. 

“I never said I’d sleep with you!” He snapped, scrambling backward out of the car and falling on his ass. 

“If you didn’t want to sleep with you, you shouldn’t have come!” 

Thus declared, Juan turned the keys in the ignition and brought his car into life with a loud roar. Quickly deducing what the impulsive man was about to do next, as Ziva had done it multiple times to his person, Tony quickly moved his feet away from the tires and flinched as they barely missed running over his feet as their owner sped away.


	10. Chapter 10

Gibbs was still up at three in the morning, heartily cursing himself for ever having lost his temper in such an explosive fashion as he impatiently waited, and hoped for, his distraught son’s safe return. Because while they had only shared a few beers between themselves before the bickering had begun, the whole damnable affair begat by his perfectly innocent inquiry into why Tony seemed particularly down that afternoon, the agonizing fact still remained that driving in a rage was a great danger in and of itself. Because not only would his child’s focus not be on the road and it accompanying signs, so too would his elevated blood-pressure render him more susceptible to road-rage confrontations. And while he knew Tony could handle himself well enough should such an unpleasant scenario occur, the thought of his only remaining child getting shot for cutting someone off in traffic worried him to no end. 

As such, the desire to call and make amends with his son for the last couple hours had been nearly inescapable – the incessant anxiety that came with not knowing whether or not his last conversation with his boy would be a heated one almost causing him to cave in near the third hour mark. It was only his very real concern of smothering his SFA with overprotective actions that kept his cellphone tucked away, as well as his raw desire not to exacerbate an already terse situated by needling the boy for a truce when he might not yet be ready for reconciliation. 

And so it was that he sat alone on his couch, just barely resisting the temptation to call his son as he watched one of the pretentious ‘films’ said man had left in the DVD player. Not really understanding what the hell the concept of such was about, as it was all in French and he lacked the ability to turn on subtitles, he focused mostly on the lead-actresses rack and cursed himself for not understanding technology well enough to turn the cable back on. 

As matters currently stood, he was just about ready to pick up the abandoned book on historic shipwrights Ducky had purchased for him for his most recent birthday, the thick and dusty volume currently hidden beneath the well-crafted Mercedes-Benz Tony had gifted him with during the very same event. Because while the tomb was sure to be dry in nature, as well as painfully technical, Gibbs reasoned his boredom could still be quelled to a minor degree if the pages had pictures he could compare to the boat he was currently crafting downstairs in his basement. 

With that thought in mind, he slowly sat up and stretched, his shoulders popping with the action as he bit back a yawn and stretched for the long-neglected book. But before his calloused fingers could so much as even brush against the dust-coated cover, much less grasp the volume by its spine, his actions were interrupted by the sounds of his kitchen door being thrown open. 

Knowing there would be no burglar stupid enough to rob the house of a person with their vehicle still parked out front in the driveway, especially one that clearly belonged to a man, Gibbs made no move to retrieve his gun and waited patiently for any footfalls to identify their rude intruder. To his great surprise, as well as relief, the loud yet deliberate footfalls foretold of his son’s early return home – the realization anxiety-producing and relieving all at once. 

Figuring his child might yet still be reasonably angry after their latest show-down, as well a bit tipsy after three hours spent away from the house, Gibbs made no move to greet his son home – not wishing to exacerbate the already tense situation he had earlier created. If Tony wished to talk him at all that night, even to wish him a curt goodnight, it would have to be on his terms and his terms alone – no matter how much Gibbs might wish he could be the first to extend the proverbial olive-branch of peace. 

Awaiting his fate like a man, Gibbs sank back on the sofa cushions and tried to act as if he was engrossed in the film still playing on his nearly-muted television, not at all wanting to seem like an overbearing mother hen should his child actually chose to forgive him and wish him goodnight. 

As it soon turned out, such a decision proved to be the correct one, as mere moments later Tony came meandering his way into the previously quiet living room, his bottom lip a swollen mess and his green eyes suspiciously red and watery from all the salty moisture he was clearly holding back. But rather than take measures to hide such a disturbance, as he was wont to do of late, his Senior Field Agent moved toward him rather than away, his expression a garbled mess of undecipherable emotions as he collapsed on the couch next to him and allowed his head to fall unto Gibbs’s lap. 

A bit too startled at the recent reconciliation to react at first, Gibbs quickly jerked back into realty when he heard a small sniffle that Tony clumsily tried to disguise as a cough. Immediately launching into action at the pitiful sound, as the small noise effortlessly reminded him of the many times Kelly would try to stifle her tears when faced with scraped knees and elbows, he wordlessly yanked the yellow afghan Shannon had made off the back of the couch and draped it over his son’s shoulders. 

“Barfight?” Gibbs mumbled, not knowing how else to proceed. 

Denying his father’s suspicions with a small shake of his head, Tony brought a hand up to conceal his ravished lips and wearily closed his eyes. Knowing he would have no words to bring comfort to his son, at least not just yet, Gibbs frowned in sympathy and simply settled rubbing for the man’s shoulder in a soothing fashion – such a habit having developed when his son was still hospitalized with the plague and he had been unable to do anything else but sit at his bedside and wish the illness away. To his great relief, Tony did not fight him on the matter, rather he seemed to embrace the familiar and soothing contact, at one point even daring to snatch his father’s free hand and clutch it as tightly as if it were a life-preserver. 

“Bad date.” His boy, at last, confessed. 

It took every ounce of willpower within his body for Gibbs not press his son for more details. For not only could he smell the fetid order of cheap dollar-store cologne coating his child’s jacket, the likes of which had both his throat and nose burning, so too could he barely contain that parental instinct that told him he must needs find out the name of the culprit and tear them limb from limb – or, at the very least, ream them a new asshole via malicious verbal tirade. Because after having failed him where concerned his hellish relationship with Ziva, Gibbs had resolutely vowed that nobody would lay a hand on his child again without severe consequences being paid their way. 

“You get slapped?” Gibbs inquired instead, thinking of the swollen lips. 

“No.” Tony dismissed, grimacing slightly. “I got bit.” 

Nowhere near naïve enough to assume that such rough foreplay had been welcomed, especially not when his son seemed so bothered by the evening he had just had, Gibbs scowled and wondered if there might yet be other bruises left to be discovered on his boy’s body. Bristling at the very thought, as he had no idea just how much trauma his boy could take before breaking, Gibbs had to bite his tongue to keep from interrogating a name from the silently weeping man. 

“I hope you gave as good as you got.” He grunted instead, giving his son’s shoulder a pat for good measure. “Otherwise I’m going to have to.” 

Snorting at the idea of his father-figure going rogue like Batman, even though it was very much in Gibbs’s character to do so, Tony frowned and squeezed the larger fingers he had earlier trapped his hand – very much like a small child to confirm for himself that the comfort he was receiving, as well as the comforter, was indeed real. And growing up the way Tony had, being passed from one nanny to the next, and then to one school after another, Gibbs couldn’t really blame him. 

“You know I’d do anything to protect you.” Gibbs insisted, forcing the words out. “Had I known about Ziva, I would have crushed her, too.” 

Flinching violently at the name of the Israeli, Tony inadvertently dug his fingernails into Gibbs’s palm in a manner that clearly suggested he expected the violent women to appear at any moment on some Beetlejuice shit. Regretting having been the cause of such a negative reaction, as well as once more incensed at the very existence of such a woman, Gibbs immediately resumed his rubbing of Tony’s shoulder. 

“Ziva wasn’t your fault.” His son insisted, his voice shaky yet firm. “You couldn’t have known about something I didn’t tell you about.” 

“I’m your father.” Gibbs argued. “I should’ve known.” 

In truth, he had, in fact, known about the verbal abuse- Ziva’s very many phone calls to Tony at work, calls in which her voice could easily be heard even without the aid of loudspeaker, having seen to that. But, as the majority of those conversations had been in Yiddish, a language he had never had any prayer of understanding, Gibbs hadn’t really gotten the full gist of just how bad such verbal tirades had quickly become. Had he known about such a thing, had even the merest proof of such, he told himself the relationship would not have lasted long enough for the physical assaults to begin. 

“I don’t blame you, Boss.” Tony insisted, perfectly honest. “I should have told you.” 

“That might have helped.” Gibbs grunted, more satirical than upset. “You…you could talk to me now, even, if you thought that would help.” 

With a scowl that was a heart mixture of petulance and weariness, Tony shook his head a few times and closed his eyes as he theatrically sighed. 

“I don’t want to speak about Zi – I don’t want to talk about her.” 

“I don’t either.” Gibbs blurted, unable to stop himself. 

Seeing as the line had already been crossed, Gibbs closed his own eyes and forced himself to continue, even as his son stiffened in his lap with an expression very akin to a rabbit being met face to face with the snarling maw of a ferocious dog. 

“I may not have known about Ziva, you know.” He babbled, feeling increasingly awkward the longer he spoke. “But a father does notice…certain things eventually. Things…things he doesn’t need explicitly told about to understand – or accept.” 

Rather than blush, as the Italian was particularly prone toward doing when embarrassed, Tony paled considerably and looked ready to pass out at any moment. But, knowing he would neither have the courage nor the opportunity for such a frank exchange again for a very long time, if at all, Gibbs continued to yank out the sutures as quickly as possible. 

“What I’m trying to say, Son, is that…I know.” 

“Know what?” Tony breathed, clearly dreading the answer. 

“Tony,” Gibbs said, more pointedly, “I know. I know, And it’s okay.”


	11. Chapter 11

Although Tony had understood that the uncomfortable conversation taking place must needs have happened at some point during the next few months, or perhaps calendar year, he was utterly unprepared to find himself confronted with such a difficult topic right at that moment – having been given no real time to prepare for such an onslaught, nevermind given any sort of inkling that his father had even ‘suspected’ he wasn’t at all as straight as he’d spent half his lifetime pretending to be. But before he could even so much as feign ignorance as to what the older man was talking about, much less muster up any outrage for being so forcefully outed, his father was cutting him off – the Marine’s monologue firm even as he stumbled over his choice of words and was unable to meet his son’s eyes. 

“I know, Tony.” Gibbs sighed, looking highly conflicted. “I should have let you come to me first, I know that, but…Goddammit, kid, I was getting worried. You weren’t eating, or sleeping, and…well, once I found out what was…what…was bothering you, I…I just couldn’t pretend not to know anymore.” 

Too overwhelmed with the outing to formulate a reply, much less comprehend how he felt, Tony remained stubbornly mute and contemplated just how badly his running from the house would go over with his employer. 

“Would you say something, already?” Gibbs growled, drawing Tony’s eyes away from the windows. “I’ve done more than my fair of talking these last few months.”

Reflecting upon the very many instances in which his pseudo-father had taken upon himself the liberty of entering his room unannounced to try and pry from him some sort of confession, Tony felt a small inkling of guilt creep inside his person. Because, for all intents and purposes, he really had been acting the part of a bratty teenager for the last several weeks. And warranted or not, there really hadn’t been any reason to not give his father the merciful snippet of information every now and then. That was struggling his sexuality need never come up at all, he need only have fed his boss some trivial nonsense about his stress levels being out of joint. That he had chosen to be so obstinate in his refusal to share with the man he idolized any sort of information that would have put him at peace was simply unpardonable, and it did not at all speak well of his character. 

But though Tony most ardently wished to apologize, if not for his recalcitrance than for his part in the explosive fight they had just experienced, one niggling thought and worry prevented him from doing so.

“How…how did you find out?” Tony demanded, his gut clenching in preparation for the answer. 

Because while he was absolutely certain his father wouldn’t maliciously out him to anyone, not on purpose at least, the fact still remained that someone must have discovered the secret for themselves and leaked it to Gibbs. For greatly observant or not, there was just no way that his boss had simply deduced his sexuality from thin air.

“A father knows.” Gibbs tried to evade. “And, I mean, you did just confirm it for me right now.” 

Too panicked at a second person knowing his secret, as that was already two people too many, Tony scowled at the former Marine. 

“Answer the question.” 

Looking as if he had just been asked to espouse on his ideas about the meaning of life, Gibbs closed his eyes with a weary sigh and ran his hand hands through his hair with abject weariness. Too wound up in anticipation of the answer to do anything but sit stiffly beside the disquieted man, his empathy all but depleted by nerved, Tony nibbled angrily at his bottom lip and pondered what the outcome might be if he were to suggest they both just pretend the events of the last hour had never happened. Because surely a return to the status quo, no matter how tumultuous such a phenomenon proved itself to be, would be far better than his great unfamiliarity facing them. But before he could put forth the question to the man sitting beside him, much less part his now bleeding lips, his father, at long last, spoke. 

“I’ve suspected you were…that way for at least a few weeks now, Tony.” Gibbs confessed, the smallest sign of color creeping unto his cheeks. “You’ve been getting picked up by men…and I saw one…I saw one hug you a few nights ago.” Tripping over his tongue in a manner that would rival even Palmer himself, the grizzled Marine pressed on. “And…well, you’ve been reeking of someone else’s cheap cologne for a while now.” There Gibbs paused to swallow, looking very much like a prisoner being led toward his execution. “And, well, when I saw you talking with Thorpe earlier this week…well, it all kind of clicked together.” 

“Boss – “ Tony began, his desperation lending a harsher tone than necessary to his voice. 

“Don’t.” Gibbs cut him off, the order more of a plea. “Don’t be mad that I didn’t wait for you tell me for yourself.” Finally opening his eyes once more, his father looked plaintively at him. “I couldn’t, Tony, I just couldn’t. You may not understand because you’re not a father yourself but – “

Unable to bare a moment more of his father shouldering a guilt which didn’t rightfully belong to him, Tony shook his head wildly and spoke candidly with his father for the first time in several months. 

“Dad,” He began, making use of the well-earned moniker to lessen the blow, “I wanted to tell you, really I did.” There he paused, for a moment not knowing how best to continued. “It was just that I was…I didn’t know how you would…I – “

Knowing him as well as any good father knew their child, Gibbs frowned despondently and shook his head. 

“You were afraid of how I would react.” 

Though the accurate accusation wasn’t delivered via growl or shout, the immensely wounded expression on his father’s face served to hurt him almost more than he could bare. 

“I knew you wouldn’t kick me off the team.” Tony immediately clarified, eager to pacify such rightfully hurt feeling. “But…it was just…I thought you wouldn’t want me around anymore once you knew. You’re from a different time, after all, and – “

“Tony.” Gibbs growled, voice suspiciously thick. “There is absolutely nothing you could do that would make me not want you as a son anymore.” Stopping for a moment to swallow, the older man cleared his throat before pressing onward. “For fucks sake,” He sighed, the words intense and full of feeling, “I’ve already lost a daughter. Did you honestly think I would turn on you for something so…something so…goddamn trivial?”

Unable to bare the abject hurt showing on his father’s face, Tony turned his gaze toward the floor and allowed the myriad of emotions he had been holding unto to finally claim their existence in his body. As such, it was very nearly impossible for him to speak – the painful sensation of regret and mortification fighting for dominance making it very difficult to concentrate on anything else. 

“I was scared.” Tony finally managed, still staring at the freshly-swept floorboards. 

“Of me?” Gibbs breathed, still looking very much like a wounded puppy. 

“No.” He sighed, frustration rapidly settling in. “Of me.” 

While he would have never thought it possible for Gibbs to express so much emotion in a single day, nevermind an hour, his bosses face took on an expression of profound frustration that set Tony hurtling toward self-preserving and indignant anger. Because, even after this cheesy heart-to-heart, what right did his father have to try and play the victim in this matter? He was the one who had been forcefully outed, after all, the sensitive secret having been all but interrogated from him in a clear moment of weakness. Why, if anyone had any rights to lay claim to a righteous anger, it was certainly him.   
But rather than give voice to his indignation, and run the risk of starting yet another vicious row with his father-figure, Tony held his peace and waited impatiently waited to see if his father might yet somehow redeem himself via words or action. 

“Tony.” Gibbs began, the name a burdened sigh. “It’s not the fifties anymore…you don’t have to be afraid.” 

Though he knew perfectly well that such an assumption hadn’t been maliciously formed, it still bespoke of a certain ignorance that made Tony’s blood boil. 

“How can you possibly even think that?” 

Blinking in surprise at the harsh tone, as it was not very often the Marine was faced with such attitude, Gibbs met Tony’s expression with one of bewildered innocence before answering. 

“I just meant…It’s not like people are still getting lynched for that sort of thing anymore, that’s all.” 

“No.” Tony mocked. “They’re just getting assaulted instead. Or shot.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them, for clearly the thought of his only remaining child getting shot (or killed) resonated with the man in a much more powerful way than Tony had ever dared to suspect or hope. Unfortunately for him, the realization that he had made such a dick-move came far too late, and he was forced to watch, as result, the color drain from his father’s face as he no doubt imagined all sorts of grizzly scenes in his head. 

“I didn’t mean – It’s…It’s just scary, Dad. It really is.” Tony quickly interjected, anger giving way into regret and resignation. “I want…I want to fix it, but…I just…I just don’t know how. And that scares me.” 

“Tony,” Gibbs frowned, clamping a hand down on his shoulder, “There isn’t anything to fix.” 

Though he was entirely unwilling to shrug away the reassuring hand, Tony still snorted at such a trite diatribe – having learned far too much in the last few weeks to believe such nonsense. 

“You’re telling me that you wouldn’t prefer that I was straight?” 

Never a man to back away from a challenge, whether physical or mental, Gibbs meant his gaze with an intensity that made Tony feel both uncomfortable and safe. 

“I’d prefer you happy.” Gibbs stressed, never breaking eye-contact. “And for you to never, ever, date a Packers fan.” 

Having feared yet another argument, Tony couldn’t help the moisture that rose to his eyes as his father forcefully, yet clumsily, lightened the mood with a joke as lame as it was cliché. For not only did it show that Gibbs really didn’t mind at all that he was not as straight as always presume, it showed as well that his boss still knew him well enough to know when enough was enough and some deflection and humor called for.


	12. Chapter 12

While Gibbs wasn’t exactly certain as to how his veritable giant of a son had ended up wrapped up in his arms after such a tumultuous conversation, the minor details of which he could now barely recall, he couldn’t altogether truthfully claim that he was unhappy to be both the giver and recipient of such a long overdue embrace. As such, his grip, despite being of an endurable nature, was all but certainly a bit overbearing as he held tightly to his overstressed boy and patiently allowed him to cry out all the unpleasant emotions he had obstinately been holding in for half a year. Because, after all was said and done, what was a few wet spots on his sweater compared to the long months of isolation unwillingly thrust upon by said man? 

“What if the Packers fan has an insanely hot body, Boss? What then?” Tony playfully challenged, at long last recovering himself well enough to speak coherently. 

Understanding that the moment for much-needed hugs had now passed, Gibbs inwardly sighed and reluctantly withdrew his arms from his kid’s body – the respectful action leaving him with a slightly-hollow feeling he didn’t much enjoy. But rather than guilt his son for such an innocent request for bodily autonomy, and thus produce in the man feelings he didn’t rightfully deserve, Gibbs took the action like a man and barely even frowned when Tony seemed relieved for it. 

“No exceptions, Anthony.” Gibbs growled, returning to his usual sternness. “I’m not going to have a goddamn cheese-head in the family.” 

As trivial as such a resolute stipulation might have appeared to those who did not understand the nature of such uncouth beasts, Gibbs refused to be swayed on the matter in any fashion – having once even forbade his beloved Kelly from wearing one of their ugly jerseys to please a boy she had crushed on in second grade. 

Putting on a mock pout, of the variety he knew incensed Gibbs the most when unchivalrously used, Tony straightened his posture and effortlessly avoid the heatless headslap aimed in his general direction. And then, figuring it best not to push his luck when he no longer had the benefit of compassion on his side, Tony picked up the half-empty beer Gibbs had been working on and cheekily downed in four gulps. 

Fully prepared to tell the lazy asshole to get up of his ass and fetch his own beverage, as Gibbs craved a return to normalcy like nothing else, he leveled his son with a weak glare and opened his mouth to deliver his mild scolding. But before he could so much as address the cheeky culprit, much less reprimand him, Tony cut him by suddenly looking at him with a very serious expression. 

“I should have told you.” 

Inwardly cringing at the sudden candor, as it was not at all like his boy to be so often serious within just the scope of a few hours, Gibbs bit down a sigh of frustration and shook his head. 

“Anthony,” Gibbs began, making use of his full name to denote seriousness, “It’s alright. I know you would have told me eventually.” 

“Yes.” Tony agreed, a small blush creeping unto his cheeks. “But it would’ve saved the both of us a lot of trouble if I had just come to you from the start.” 

Thinking back on all the slammed doors, the likes of which had always come after particularly vexing arguments about undeserved shunning and secrecy, Gibbs couldn’t help but let lose an amused snort at such truthfulness. 

“It would also save me a lot of trouble if you could remember to scrape your plate on the side of the sink with the goddamn garbage disposal.” 

Having spent just that morning spending a good ten minutes in fishing out soggy eggshells and still-moist coffee grounds from his sink, an action which had caused him to miss the best part of the local news, his annoyance at such carelessness was still fresh and, as such, made itself evident in his voice. 

“I’ll try and remember to keep your sink clean.” His boy immediately promised, never one to enjoy sort of censure. 

“I’m not going to hold my breath.” Gibbs mumbled, rolling his eyes. 

Because much like his son’s stubborn inability to remember to turn off the lights after he left a room, Gibbs was all but certain the garbage disposal issue wouldn’t be solved anytime soon either. 

“In my defense, I’ve had a lot on my mind.” 

Not missing a beat, Gibbs cast a firm, yet bemused, smile unto his son. 

“Which is the only reason your head is still attached to your body.” 

Because, in all honesty, had the attitude come about in an unsolicited manner, Gibbs would have head-slapped the younger man so hard his head dislodged from his neck. 

“Well,” Tony yawned, slowly rising to his feet, “As much as I’d love to stay and hear about all the ways in which you’d like to dismember me, I really am tired.” 

Glancing at his watch, Gibbs was taken a bit off-guard to find that it was very nearly dawn and time for him to be eating breakfast. But rather than suggest to his exhausted son that he stay up a bit longer and nap later, so as not to upset his sleeping schedule, he obliged the young man and wished him a goodnight – graciously accepting the meek request from said agent that he wouldn’t be allowed to sleep any later than noon. 

Not at all that tired himself, his Marine programming playing a hand in that, Gibbs stood and made to go into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast – only to be stopped by the sound of Tony’s footfalls stilling on the stairwell. Concerned as to what might be the issue, as he thought them to have left off on good terms, Gibbs turned to investigate and found his son with a worried expression on his face. 

“You…you’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” 

“I won’t.” Gibbs promised, unwaveringly meeting his eye. “I’ll always have your six.” 

Having thought such a promise to be reassuring, Gibbs was a bit puzzled when the harried expression on the younger man’s face only lessened by a minor degree. 

“And nothing’s changed between us?” Tony pestered. “We’re still good?” 

Once more wishing that he could strangle Senior for instilling in the film-enthusiast a sense of self-esteem so low that he feared being abandoned for the slightest things, Gibbs sighed and gave his answer with a half-smile. 

“No, Tony, nothing’s changed.” He assured. “Which means I am going to actually have to ask you not to see that man you’ve been seeing ever again. His cheap cologne gives me a headache and you come home reeking of it.” 

Truth be told, Gibbs had covertly taken to laundering all of Tony’s clothing on the evenings he came home from seeing such pungent culprit – his tolerance all but negatable when it came to such a harsh and unpleasant scent. 

“You don’t have to worry about that.” Tony frowned. “I’m never seeing him again.” 

Now given the confirmation that the man his son had been seeing was not at as much a gentleman as he should have been, Gibbs scowled fiercely and wondered just how much trouble he would be in with the director if he went rouge and assaulted a non-case related stranger. 

“If you would just give me a name, I could make sure of that.” He suggested, having quickly made up his mind. 

Although he failed to hide the amusement on his face, Tony shook his head firmly and theatrically waggled a finger at him in a Ducky-like fashion. 

“No, Dad.” He smirked. “You can’t just murder away my problems for me.” 

“I could if you’d let me!” Gibbs called after him, his voice lost behind the thudding sound of footfalls jogging up the steps.


	13. Chapter 13

Sitting out on his front porch to enjoy what was surely one of the last few days of decent summer weather, Gibbs sipped slowly on his steaming coffee and briefly considered whether or not his favorite coffee shot would have once more started selling his favorite pumpkin-spice flavored beverage now that the summer season had clearly given way into autumn. A secret vice, one in which he shamefully indulged whenever he found himself alone and utterly devoid of witnessing eyes, Gibbs found he looked forward to the flavors prompt return each year.

In fact, he was just about to dial up said coffee shop and make his inquiries as to an exact return date, so he need not waste any precious time or gas in driving there himself to investigate, when his phone loudly dinged with the annoying bullhorn sound effect he hadn’t yet been able to discover how to remove. Quickly recovering from the jarring noise, and praying it hadn’t awoken a sleeping Tony who preferred to leave his bedroom window open this time of year, Gibbs scowled at the offending object and was a bit taken aback to find that it was Ducky who had texted him. 

Curious as to what the Medical Examiner could want from him on his day off, as Gibbs heartily believed them to still be on slightly bad terms after their little spat in the former’s office, it was with a slight frown that Gibbs opened up his messages to investigate the matter. 

I shall be over with flu-shots promptly.” 

Figuring that it might not be the kindest thing in the world for him to subject his needle fearing son to an inoculation so very soon after they had just reconciled, Gibbs almost made the suggestion that such a shot be held off for a day or two – given that no real outbreaks of any type of flu had yet been reported that year. But worrying that his only true friend would take that as direct evidence that he was still bitter about their slight row, and concerned as well about his child’s scarred lungs and weakened immune system, Gibbs forwent such a decision and texted back the Scottish man with a thumbs-up emoji – his fingers far too fat and clumsy to make proper use of the texting keyboard. 

Shall I bring a mild sedative or will a more manual restrain suffice this year?

Thinking back to last year’s hellish deliverance of said flu-shots, an occasion in which Tony had very nearly bitten Gibbs’s thumb off trying to escape his hold, as well as given Ducky one hell of a black eye via a steel-toed boot to the face, he promptly texted back his request for a copious amount of Ativan to be brought along. 

Thus decided, Gibbs leaned back on his porch swing and reflected with a certain measure of melancholic sadness on the way in which he and Kelly had once spent their mornings on the very same swing, the both of them sharing a pilfered cup of coffee the younger wasn’t quite allowed as they both patiently awaited for Shannon to awake and drive Kelly to school. Closing his eyes, just a moment to enjoy the nice breeze, Gibbs swore he could almost hear his daughter’s voice chattering away at him on the rustling of the leaves he left coating his lawn to honor her memory. 

“Ah, Jethro.” Ducky greeted, effectively pulling him from his reveries as he took a seat directly beside him on the swing. “Why so serious this morning?” 

Seeing as the Medical Examiner clearly harbored no ill-will toward his person, Gibbs fought of the self-preserving urge to growl at the man that he was no such thing. 

“This time of year always makes me nostalgic.” He mumbled instead, finally cracking open his eyes. 

Blinking twice in the light of a still-rising sun, Gibbs fought away an anguished frown as he realized Kelly would’ve been celebrating her birthday the following day – the happy incident shortly followed by Shannon’s own just a few weeks later. 

“The changing of the seasons tend to work wonders on our remembrances.” Ducky observed, his own eyes clouding over as he no doubt reflect on burying his mother two years ago around the same time.   
“Yeah.” Gibbs grunted, staring out at his yard. 

As yet another small gale sent the colored and dead leaves flittering across the enclosed space, Gibbs couldn’t help but think of Shannon’s gorgeous red curls being coated in rouge leaves of the same color as they married out in the open on the first of October, her smile wide and her dark eyes full of hope for the future she had barely been given a chance to experience. 

“I…I apologize, Jethro.” Ducky mumbled, looking slightly unsettled. “Perhaps I should come back at a better time.” 

Understanding that it was not a selfish desire to get away from a friend need, but rather a respectful suggestion that would give his introverted friend a bit of privacy, Gibbs took no real offense to the gracious offer but refused it nonetheless. 

“There’s no sense in leaving when you’re already here.” He dismissed, more gruffly than he would have liked. “Sit and drink your tea with me.” 

Unwilling to forbid his friend such an innocent request for companionship, Ducky tucked his feet up unto his portion of the wicker swing and slowly savored a large sip of his steaming tea. Thinking nothing of the action, as the bespectacled man always made a great show of enjoying his more-refined beverages, Gibbs was content to just sit in friendly and silent comradery until he took notice of the small black logo on the Styrofoam cup. 

“You stopped at Deidra’s?” 

Nowhere near similar to the more pretentious teashops Ducky favored, the coffee shop in question was of a smaller variety with only just a dozen or so variety of flavors for patrons to choose from – juxtaposed to his friend’s favorite haunt which boasted half-a-hundred varieties and combinations of tea alone. 

“As you kept praising their coffee, I thought it my obligation to at least give their tea a try.” 

“And?” Gibbs interrogated, quirking his brows at the clearly pleased man. 

“And it is superb.” Ducky admitted, looking defeated. “Thank you.” 

Reveling in his victory, as it was not often he could claim superior taste when it came to the Scotsman, Gibbs failed to notice the sly and mischievous look that came to fall over his friend’s face. 

“You’ll be happy to know that their pumpkin-spice flavored coffee is due to make its return tomorrow.” 

Surprised enough to choke on his coffee, Gibbs gasped for air when at last his airways recovered enough to allow such an action. 

“How – “ 

“I knew there was a reason Tony had started purchasing pumpkin-spice lattes.” Ducky educated, giving his friend a smug look. “And as he has professed numerous times to have no great fondness for such a vegetable, especially in liquid form, I knew it had to be for one of his colleagues.”

Still not amused at being found out, Gibbs gave his companion an indignant look and demanded to know how he had deduced that colleague was, in fact, him. 

“Such was a fairly simple deduction, Jethro.” Ducky gloated. “Jimmy cannot have so much sugar in one go, so I knew it could not be him. As for Abigail, well, we both know she only drinks Caff-Pow or the occasional Gatorade whenever Timothy can be prevailed upon to guilt her into it. Caitlyn, now, would never drink something so rich in calories, especially so close to the holidays – “ 

Though he knew he had no need to justify such a preference in beverages to Ducky of all people, the compulsion to do so was much too strong to stifle. 

“Alright, I get.” Gibbs growled, cutting his friend off. “You got me. But that shit is good, Ducky. It really is.” 

Indulging him with an agreeing nod, Ducky sipped at his own beverage a bit longer before answering. 

“Are you sure that your enjoyment of that beverage has nothing to do with that barista who manages the store?” 

Gibbs couldn’t help but let lose an angry snort at such an assumption, the sound so violent and disgusting that Ducky jolted a bit in his seat and shot him a scolding look. 

“She’s blonde.” Gibbs dismissed, hoping that would be the end of it. 

Because as pretty as the woman in question certainly was, which was quite so, Gibbs had experienced the great misfortune of watching her homophobic ass refuse to serve a lesbian couple their coffee last Christmas Eve. And while that, in itself, had been enough to prompt him into never letting her serve him his coffee again, much less receive his generous tips as a result, the fact now remained that her mere existence in the shop infuriated him to no end now that he knew about Tony. But unable to convey such a discovery to his friend, and thus risk outing the secret his son had asked him to keep, Gibbs kept silent and vowed to deflect for as long as he could. 

“Blonde or not, you must admit that she is rather pretty.” 

“If all I wanted in a wife was for her to be pretty, I wouldn’t have married number three.” 

Still bitter about all the goddamn failed marriages on his plate, Gibbs had childishly taken to referring to each wife by number rather than name. And, figuring that they all addressed him with much worse monikers, the truthfulness of which he felt was debatable, he had no major qualms whatsoever about doing such. 

“Ah, yes, number there really was quite the…” 

“Yeah,” Gibbs chuckled, “Yeah she was.” 

Looking greatly relieved that he hadn’t been heckled into using any expletives, as doing so had always made him great uncomfortable, Ducky relaxed his posture and smiled as well. 

“Number two, however, really was quite dashing.” 

“Yeah.” Gibbs agreed, touching the scar above his brow. “And she never took a shovel to my head, either.” 

Sharing a chuckle with each other at the memory, as the Medical Examiner had actually been a witness to said event along with Tony, Ducky shook his head and tutted in an amused fashion at number three’s enraged actions. 

“We sure have been through a lot these last few years, haven’t we?” Ducky asked, waning nostalgic. 

“Wouldn’t have had it any other way.” Gibbs grunted, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast. 

“Yes,” His friend agreed, touching his cup to the mug, “Which is precisely why I wanted to apologize for that little tizzy I threw – “ 

“Don’t – “ 

A withdrawn and stoic man at the best of times, Gibbs had, by that point, already experienced enough emotional turmoil within the last few hours to last him over into the next decade. But rather than have compassion for his gruffer friend, something he was normally so good about dishing out, Ducky gave him a scolding frown and pressed on despite the protest. 

“Hear me out, now.” The Medical Examiner insisted, firm yet kind. “I…I should not have barked at you like that. Yours was simply an innocent inquiry and I had no right at all to make you feel so ashamed for it.” 

“Duck.” Gibbs sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s over now. We’re good.” 

Though he looked highly relieved to hear that they were still on good terms, the Scottish man was vexingly unable to leave the matter alone. 

“I do believe I still owe you an explanation of sorts.” 

Sensing that his companion needed to speak more for his own benefit, if not to his assuage his guilt than to make absolutely certain that all was well between them, Gibbs steeled himself and wondered just why he was being subject to so much…feeling in such a short period of time. 

“I was jealous, you see.” Ducky began, a blush rising to his cheeks. 

“Jealous?” 

Though he knew the older man harbored no feelings other than those of an avuncular nature for Tony, the confession was still of a confusing nature. 

“Quite so.” Ducky admitted, the color on his cheeks only deepening. “You see, you were showing me just how supportive you were of your child and I guess…I guess it made me a bit bitter that my own mother wasn’t so obliging. And, well, I shouldn’t have been. If anything, I should have been proud of you.” 

Reflecting upon an anguished Ducky once confessing to Gibbs over a shared bottle of vodka that his mother had sent him off to a boarding school in England to punish him for his effeminate ways, as well as viciously having extracted from her son a promise not to ever come out publicly whilst on her deathbed, Gibbs retort came out as a beastly growl. 

“Duck?” 

“Yes?” Asked the bespectacled man, looking a tad bit nervous. 

“Feel free to punch me,” He stipulated, “But your mother was an asshole.” 

To Gibbs’s great surprise, as well as relief, Ducky actually smiled and laughed. 

“Yes.” Said he, a smile still on his face. “I suppose she was.”


	14. Chapter 14

Still a bit miffed with his father-figure for having sprung upon him an inoculation without any warning sometime around eleven, Tony pouted moodily in his bedroom as he awaited the last vestiges of Ativan to leave his system. As of yet far too cross with Gibbs to sit in the living room and watch a preseason football game at his side, as said man had almost certainly been the mastermind behind the plan to drug him, Tony instead whiled away the waiting period by mindlessly riffling through page after page of the aged sheet-music he had inherited upon his mother’s untimely death. They being the only thing of hers that he had successfully managed to claim without any interference from his greedy father, as all her expensive jewelry had quickly been split between his father and maternal aunts, the yellowed papers were as near and dear to him as the baseball Gibbs had given to him. 

And so it was with a sad smile that he carefully shuffled through the century-old collection, his joy at having been allowed to keep them slightly overshadowed by the sadness and rage that came upon him whenever his eyes fell upon one of the many black ink-stains Ziva had graced them with after yet another long evening of accusing him of cheating. And while Gibbs had painstakingly and lovingly managed to save the majority of the antiques from being rendered useless by unreadable bars and notes, the kindness of which was far from lost on his person, the unpleasant fact still remained that some of the pages were now unplayable along with a great majority of the scribbled commentary decades of Moretti pianist had left in the margins. 

Lamenting in a sullen silence the abuse paid to such a priceless family heirloom, as he felt their assault had been more an attack against his mother than himself, Tony sighed and briefly allowed himself to think about what Gibbs would have done had Ziva been so bold to damage the collection of Kelly’s sheet-music he kept safely locked away in his basement. No doubt gross bodily harm would have resulted, or, if the Israeli was lucky – death via decapitation. 

Allowing himself a brief and slightly guilt-ridden smile as he envisioned such vigilante justice taking place, Tony very nearly cried out in fearful surprise as his cellphone came loudly to life and vibrated violently atop his pillows. For a moment childishly fearing that his former tormentor had somehow inexplicably managed to hear and view his thoughts, and found them not at all to her liking, he had to forcefully stop himself from flinging the ringing electronic out his open window and out into the street. It was only as his heartbeat gradually slowed to its proper pace, as well as his mind returned to a more functional state, that Tony dared glance down at the screen to see who was calling him. 

Surprised, as well as greatly relieved, to find that it was one of his more amiable exes calling him, Tony collapsed against his headboard and took several deep breaths before deciding to accept the impromptu call. 

“Hello?” He answered, confident yet confused. 

Because while his phone had clearly displayed the name of ‘Daisy,’ such a distinction was far from helpful as he knew himself to have enjoyed the company of three of four women with the self-same name – as well as several, if not dozens, of other florally-christened dates. 

“Tony, it’s Daisy.” The chirpy voice on the other end unhelpfully exclaimed. “How are you?” 

Although the stranger’s voice had a very distinct accent, one that he couldn’t quite place at the moment, such information did but little to help him narrow down the possibilities where regarded her identity. 

“Hey…Daisy.” 

There came an annoyed sigh from the other end at his reply, and without even having to make inquiries into the matter, Tony knew he had been caught out in his lack of knowledge. 

“Tony,” The woman scolded, “I was the blonde lawyer you dated a year or so back.” 

“Daisy,” He repeated, smiling as a picture of her face came into his head, “Daisy Fossaway.” 

“There you go, DiNozzo.” 

Finally placing her accent as one that could only rightfully belong to a born-and-raised Minnesotan, Tony closed his eyes for a brief moment and allowed his creative mind to paint a more substantial portrait of her for his benefit. Much to his delight, though such an emotion came about as a result of a certain vanity, the picture provided was not at all an unpleasant one. Espousing a rather lovely face, one which could boast of large green eyes and a perfectly dimpled smile, as well claiming ownership to an untamable mane of honey-blond hair, the lawyer in question had inarguably been one of his most beautiful girlfriends. 

She had been absurdly kind as well, Tony now recalled, the shape and nature of her kind smiles now coming to the forefront of his mind. For not only had her obnoxious laughter been easy to coax into life, the sound of which he had never been accurately able to describe, so too had words of encouragement been a sort of second-language for her. Endlessly patient, as well as tender-hearted to fault, the two of them had spent many an evening in bed just talking of their lives and hopes for the future. And, perhaps most meaningful of all, the small-town-raised girl had never once grown sullen or angry with him on nights he hadn’t been able to coax himself into performing between the sheets – her benevolence and even-temper never once wavering as she assured him all was perfectly well and that an evening spent watching movies would be just and welcomed. God help him, back in those happier days Tony might have even once deluded himself into thinking he would marry her. In fact, had it not been for Ziva slowly manipulating his focus away from the comely girl, he might very well have been carefully planning a surprise proposal for her. Though, if he stopped to reflect on matters with a fair and impartial mind, the Israeli in question really had done them both a favor by sparing them any mutual heartbreak down the line. 

“And just how are you, Daisy-May?” Tony inquired, making a playful mockery of her melodic accent. 

Despite knowing it was not at all a possible phenomenon, Tony swore he could feel the annoyed heat from her end of the line creeping over into his. 

“Daisy. May.” She corrected. “Not Daisy-May.” 

Even though he would have loved to tease her a bit more about such a hick-like pairing of names, Tony kindly refrained as he knew perfectly well that the mild-mannered woman’s only real annoyance came about at being addressed with a name she felt was woefully hokey and unprofessional. 

“And just how is your law-firm by the way, Ms. Fossaway?” 

“Oh, it’s just great!” Daisy squealed into the phone. “I sent so much scum to prison last month!” 

A woman who was understandably very passionate about sending child-abusers to prison, instead of settling for useless plea-bargains that involved meagre fines and inadequate parenting classes, her excitement about avenging powerless children was very nearly contagious. 

“That seems a great way to make yourself some new friends.” He goaded, half-joking and half-serious. 

Although Tony was almost certain she hadn’t failed to hear the caution in his remarks, Daisy opted not to comment on such and skillfully moved the conversation away from the mutually personal topic of child-abusers without preamble. 

“I’ll have you know it worked well enough to get me married.” 

“Oh?” Tony inquired, leaning back into his pillows. 

“I’m marrying a Judge next week!” 

Immensely relieved that everything had worked out perfectly in the end for Daisy, as nobody he could think of deserved it more than her, Tony found himself grinning dopily up at his ceiling. 

“Well, that’s certainly one way to avoid ever getting disbarred.” 

While his conversational partner tried to make a sound of annoyance on the other end, the effect of such was utterly decimated when a giddy giggle escaped her mouth. 

“You’re coming to the wedding, yes?” Daisy inquired, finally getting her giggles under control. “I know you haven’t sent back your RSVP, but I thought it might have gotten lost in the mail.” 

More than just a little flattered that he had still been invited to the wedding of a woman whom he had dumped via text-message for another woman, as well as properly chastised for such stupidity via being faced with such unequaled kindness, Tony smiled brightly as he gave answer to his ex-girlfriend. 

“If you sent the invite to my apartment, I never got.” He confessed. “I’ve been staying with Gibbs for awhile now.” 

Despite having harbored no doubts that the humble woman would never hold a person’s living arrangements against them, even if such did involve a man moving back in with his father well into his thirties, Daisy still took him off-guard for a moment when she gave an angry growl on the other end of the phone. 

“Ziva.” She spat, the name a curse on her lips. 

Not at all prepared to have heard such a name during a conversation he thought would be of a mostly pleasant nature, Tony nearly dropped the phone in shock. 

“How did you…Who told you about her?” 

“Tony,” Daisy began, voice full of compassion, “You might want to sit down for this.” 

Gut clenching at the use of a phrase that was almost always only ever used when bad news was to follow, Tony sucked in a couple of greedy breaths before answering. 

“I am sitting.” 

“Good.” Daisy sighed, her tone heavy. “Because I didn’t just call you to invite you to a wedding you were already invited to. I called to warn you.” 

Despite having expected a certain bit of bad news, the thought that he was in some way being threatened sent a shiver down his spine. 

“Warn me?” 

Although had somehow managed to parrot out the phrase, his suddenly dry mouth made the words sound harsher than intended. 

“Tony…I got a call from Ziva David last night.” 

Sitting up so suddenly and forcefully the sheet music resting at the foot of his bed slipped off and fell to the floor, Tony clutched unto the headboard with one hand and blinked rapidly as his bedroom began to spin. 

“Tony? Tony?!” Came Daisy’s steadying voice. “Tony, are you alright?!” 

“What…what did she want?” He finally managed, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off his sudden dizziness. 

Although there would likely be a great many number of people who would’ve enjoyed the long silence that then elapsed, given that it would provide them time to reflect on the matters currently at hand, Tony found himself growing more and more antsy the longer the quietness continued. 

“She told me that she’s been contacting all of your ex-girlfriends, Tony.” Daisy began, sounding wounded on his behalf. “And when I asked why, she told me she was trying to fight deportation by way of claiming you’re a violet and angry person.” 

Unable to reply with anything other than a strangled cry that was a mixture of righteous outrage and hurt, Tony’s breathing became shallower as he desperately worked to keep the bile rising in his throat down where it belonged. 

“Tony…I really think you should come down to my office today.” Daisy suggested, timid yet firm. “We need to nip this thing in the bud.” 

Barely even registering what she had just said, as his mind had been utterly preoccupied on the previous statement, Tony shook his head wildly and loudly gave voice to the primary concern dominating his thoughts. 

“She’s claiming domestic violence?!” He demanded, slightly light-headed. “She’s the one who took a goddamn tire-iron to my head!” 

Audibly wincing at the confession of having had his head torn open via the Israeli, Daisy took several moments to recover well enough to speak. 

“She’s making claims of being abused, yes.” Daisy managed, no small amount of disgust creeping into voice. “She’s…She’s also making claims that…well, that you’re…impotent…and failed to inform her of such when you began a relationship applied for a marriage-visa.” 

As his manly-ego took a massive hit at such unwelcome news, Tony struggled to find an argument that would work well enough to convince Daisy that he wasn’t at impotent. Because while he had certainly managed to work himself up into the mood to mount her every few weeks or so, the sad fact still remained that he had struggled more often than not to get ‘little Tony’ to stand at attention when needed. 

“Daisy…” Tony struggled. “I…I never once raised my hand to her.” 

Although such a truthful claim failed to reassert the existence of his virility, it was the best Tony could manage under such stressful conditions. 

“Oh, Tony.” Daisy sympathized. “I know.”

“Never.” He stressed, feeling sick at the very thought. 

“I know.” Daisy repeated once more, her tone still kind. “But, Tony…you have a lot of ex-girlfriend. And some just might not be as…forgiving of your flakiness as me.” 

Having never heard a more truthful statement in his life where regarded his person, Tony felt the blood drain from his face. 

“What am I supposed to do, Daisy?” 

Having already been bullied by Gibbs and Abby into taking out a restraining order against the culprit in question, Tony failed to see what other legal actions he could take at the moment. 

“Come to my office, Tony – today.” Daisy once more advised. “We need to stop this before it gets any momentum.” 

“I – “ 

“Tony, look, I know you’re overwhelmed. But I really do need you to get here as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the better the chances she has of staying in the U.S and gaining custody of your child once – “ 

Powerless to do anything other than cling to the bedpost as his room violently spun, Tony let out another strangled cry and struggled not to vomit on his shoes. 

“What?!” He choked out, having to keep his eyes closed to avoid any dizziness. “What..a…child?” 

“Your baby.” Daisy replied, sounding highly alarmed. “Ziva…she said she’s pregnant.” 

“She can’t….I…” 

Although he had most certainly managed to perform more than a handful of occasions for the Israeli in question, thank you very much, the last time he had done so was three months ago – where weakened by months of avoiding her, he had been forced to meet her and return the pair of sunglasses she had left in his car. 

“Tony,” Daisy began, “You are in a lot of trouble…Please, come see me.” 

“I…” 

“Just stay where you are.” The blonde lawyer suddenly decided, sensing his turmoil. “I’ll come and get you, instead.”


	15. Chapter 15

Letting lose an obnoxiously loud yawn, Gibbs stretched lazily out atop his well-worn couch and idly contemplated whether or not his Sunday might yet be made all the better by a good long-overdue nap. Eventually deciding, after a brief debate, that there really was no good reason as to why he should not give into such a rare indulgence, as he had most certainly earned it after such a hectic start to his morning, Gibbs yawned once more and gently yanked the crocheted blanket Shannon had made years ago from the back of his couch. Bright yellow, even after all these years, and impossibly soft, Gibbs then draped the decades-old blanket over his body with a lazy flourish and leaned his head against an armrest – hoping against hope not to awake with an awkward crick in his neck. 

Gibbs was only just getting to the ethereal state of being, of the sort one experiences when they’re somewhere between the point of wakefulness and unconsciousness, when he heard his front door open with a markedly timid air – such a reluctant action instantly cluing him in to the fact that the visitor wasn’t his Medical Examiner of a friend returned to retrieve some forgotten object. His curiosity thus piqued, as he knew also those soft falls coming his way couldn’t belong to a louder Abby, Gibbs groaned in defeat and sat up just in time to see a remarkably pretty woman nervously edging into his living room. 

“Well, hello there, Ms. Daisy-May.” 

Looking very much like Gibbs had just insulted her person via his use of such playful nature, the blonde woman scowled weakly and ineffectively rolled her dashing green eyes. 

“Hello, Sir.” Replied she, perfectly returning tit for tat. 

“Don’t call me that.” Gibbs growled, not as heatedly as he might have. 

“Don’t call me Daisy-May.” She rebuttled, her tone timid but her stare firm. 

Much too fond of the skinny blonde to take any real umbrage against her sass, Gibbs gave her a diluted glower before getting to the crux of the mystery at hand – that phenomenon being, of course, her sudden reappearance in his house. Because as welcome as such certainly was, given at one point he had even given his son his blessing to marry her, such an unannounced visit was certainly out of character for the mild-mannered girl – especially now so more than ever. 

“You here to track down Tony?” 

“Well,” Daisy began, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her full lips, “As much as I enjoy your charming company, I’m afraid I’m going to have to say yes.”

Her accent just as thick and melodic as he remembered it to be, Gibbs had to pause for a moment in order to accurately decipher the words.

“Upstairs.” Gibbs grunted, gesturing toward the stairwell. “The room to the left.” 

Looking slightly relieved to have escaped a conversation with him without good-natured teasing about her state of origin having taken place, Daisy smiled demurely by way of acknowledgment and made for the stairs. But before she had taken so much as ten steps, much less reached the stairwell, her footfalls halted and suddenly retreated back the way they had come. 

“Before I forget,” Began Daisy, pulling free from her purse a square of paper, “Here.” 

Already knowing what the expensive paper denoted without looking twice, as McAbby had made use of similar parchment to herald their own upcoming nuptials, Gibbs graciously accepted the invite and made a polite show of carefully setting it aside on the portion of his coffee table not currently coated in chip crumbs and empty beer cans. 

“For your sake, you had better not have come just to brag to Tony that you’ve gone and bagged a judge for yourself.” 

Despite Daisy being one of the last people on Earth he would ever suspect to do something so childish and mean-spirited, Gibbs found he couldn’t help but be a bit overprotective of late when it came to shielding his boy from any more blows to his ego. 

“Of course not!” The comely lawyer declared, looking very much like a kicked puppy. 

Unwilling to forgo his interrogation until he was completely satisfied that her motives were noble in nature, Gibbs quirked an eyebrow at her and effortlessly locked her in a slightly awkward eye-contact. 

“So, you just show up out of the blue to drop off an invite for a man you haven’t seen in more than a year?” 

“It wasn’t out of the blue.” Daisy asserted, a slightly guilty look crossing her features.

Rising to his feet as his fatherly instincts kicked in and told him something just wasn’t right, Gibbs scowled and leveled the shorter woman with a very stern glare. 

“What’s going on, Daisy?” He demanded. “Is my boy in some sort of trouble?” 

Having himself been a witness to several occasions in which Tony found himself faced with an angry father or uncle of a girl he had taken to bed, and in one unfortunate case a husband of a woman who claimed he was dead, Gibbs found himself growing concerned at the thought that maybe Tony had defended himself far too well and left one of his antagonizers grievously injured. 

“I’m sorry,” Daisy began, effortlessly slipping into her lawyer’s voice, “But I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information to you without my client’s direct permission.” 

“Lawyer-client confidentiality.” Gibbs grumbled, spitting the words out like a curse. 

“Friend-friend confidentiality.” Daisy corrected, her smile once more returning. 

Knowing that not even he, himself, could wrench from the woman an answer she didn’t want to give, Gibbs sighed in defeat and sank back down unto the couch. 

“You Minnesotans sure are stubborn, aren’t you?” 

“You betcha.” Daisy giggled.


	16. Chapter 16

As it turned out, Fossaway and Harrow was just a tiny little brick building, of the same build and sort you could blink and miss if you were not purposely looking out for it. But it was cozy and homey inside to say the least, and it was a place that served to protect the children as best as it could. And it Tony need any proof of that aside from Daisy’s heartfelt proclamations of such, the myriad of hand-written notes and clumsily-colored pictures decorating the wall-length bulletin-board behind the receptionist’s desk was a more than adequate testament to such. It was with no small amount of somberness that he stopped to contemplate what their life might have turned out like had their own been a place like this when he and Daisy were children. 

For one, the pale skin of her back might not be the tapestry of old whipping scars it was now, nor her green eyes so filled with sadness during the times she thought nobody was looking. Nor would he, himself, be so inwardly damaged either by his father’s drunken blows and chilly receptions. But, he ruminated, they were the both of them grown now, and it did but little good to reflect all of the ‘could have beens’ in life. Because, at the end of the day, such thoughts would only torment them and leave them just as broken and hollow as on their day their childlike innocence had been shattered – for him, the tumultuous time that had resulted after his mother’s death, and for her the very moment she had been born to drug-addicted parents with a penchant for sadism. 

“Coffee?” 

Blinking himself back into awareness at the unfamiliar voice, Tony was more than a bit mortified to find a skinny black-haired secretary staring at him with abject curiosity and, if he was to be quite honest with himself, a fair amount of concern clouding her dark brown eyes. 

“Please.” Tony agreed, blushing a bit at the look of concern Daisy gave him. 

It was a knowing look the blonde woman cast his way, it being the self-same expression she would level his way whenever they shared a bed and discussed their past instead of trying to struggle into one another with awkward thrusts and clumsy maneuvers. It was loving expression, softening her eyes - a look that said, “I know, I know and I understand.’ It was a stubborn tilt in her full lips, a sad smile that said, ‘we’re only as broken as we allow ourselves to be.’ And, unable to bare such omnipotent understanding, as such forced him to consider the feelings he had long since banished to lay dormant in the darkest recesses of his mind, Tony looked away to the floorboards and followed mutely after the lawyer as she lead down a brightly-colored yellow hallway. 

Looking away from the dark floorboards only when he felt the softest of hands squeeze his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity, Tony turned his gaze upward just in time to find himself being ushered into a cozy little office.

“Tony,” Daisy hummed, gesturing at a bespectacled man sitting behind a desk, “This is my fiancé, Hershel Gottan.” Pausing briefly in her introduction to give the man in question a smile that lit up her face, one she received in turn, the pretty lawyer blushed before continuing. “I hope you don’t mind that I asked him to join us. I just thought that – “

“Daisy,” Tony sighed, slightly bemused by the beginnings of her rambling, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I trust you.” 

. Because after a long year spent conveying to her secrets that he had only ever dared to share with Gibbs, as well as receiving several sordid confidences in return, how could he not put his faith in one of the few people who had never betrayed him? 

“Thank you, Tony.” Daisy smiled, looking highly touched. 

Allowing them time in which they were able to silently convey via facial contortions and twisting lips their gratitude for each other, Judge Gottman pretended to be particularly interested in his newspaper before finally standing up to greet his fiancées guest. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tony.” The judge declared, his smile painfully crooked but friendly nonetheless.

“The pleasure is mine, Judge.” He readily agreed, giving the hand proffered to him a firm handshake. 

“None of that now.” The older man chided, looking nearer to Gibbs’s age than Daisy. “I’m only ‘Judge’ when I’m wearing my robes.” 

Though he had been addressing Tony with such playful banter, Daisy was the one to look at the magistrate then – the grateful smile on her face and the loving look in her eyes a testament to the fact that she clearly hadn’t even taken notice of his graying hair or the off-centered way in which his mouth rested on his slightly-wrinkled face. It was a look conveyed for all to see that she loved his fatherly humor and deep voice…an expression that showed she clearly believed God had sent her the Judge to love her back into the wholeness of being she had always deserved. 

And just like that, it was all too much for him to bear witness to – leaving him with a dull and throbbing longing that made him curse himself for having not thought to clue Gibbs in and bring him along. 

Because even if no woman (or man) would ever look at him like that, Gibbs still looked at Tony like he had always imagined a father was supposed to. As if he wasn’t just some broken and needy man-child obnoxiously vying for any ounce of attention like he was so very often accused of being. Like he wasn’t just some dumbass kid who was forced to major in physical education just to get a degree…. like he was worthy…Worthy of the unconditional love he had lost the moment his mother had died. 

“Tony – “ Daisy startled, finally looking away from her fiancé to take notice of his conflict. 

“I…I want my father here.” 

Without missing a beat, Daisy pulled a cellphone free from her pocket. 

“I’ll call him.” She promised. “Just wait here.”


	17. Chapter 17

Though Gibbs had only just fallen asleep when his cellphone rang and woke him, his ire at having missed out on an indulgent nap had quickly been mitigated when Daisy Fossaway had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he needed to get down to her practice and deal with a distraught Tony. Not bothering as to inquire in to any details, as that would waste precious time, Gibbs had all but hung up on the concerned lawyer as she wished him goodbye and nearly slipped on a sock as he hurried out to his truck. 

But if his parental anxiety had earlier threatened to overwhelm him, impatient rage soon won out when it took him a grand total of forty-five fucking minutes to find the goddamn place his GPS aid was only a quarter of an hour away. Such a frustration not at all helped when arrogantly cut off by some dumbass college kid in what was very clearly his fathers ‘borrowed’ antique corvette, Gibbs was all but homicidal when he finally managed to locate the practice only to be forced into parking by a tree that looked like it was ready to fall over at any moment. 

To say that his ire was only increased when he entered the building at had to spend a good five minutes looking for the secretary, so that he might find out where he needed to go without barging into all seven offices, would be a great understatement. To say that his great rage abated completely when he, at last found her texting near a vending machine with the spurious defense that she was chatting with her doctor, would be a lie. 

Said secretary’s only saving grace came about at the prompt arrival of Daisy herself, her expression harried and a bit disappointed as discovered her secretary still busily typing away with her phone and utterly unresponsive to Gibbs’s threat that he would lob the damn thing out the window if she didn’t go and find out which room his kid was in. Thankfully spared such an abuse against her electronic by her employer’s quick intervention, which wisely involved sending the culprit off to answer the phones she had left ringing for a good ten minutes, the embarrassed lawyer then grabbed him by the forearm and hurriedly directed him toward the largest office in the building. 

“He’s in there.” Daisy advised, quickly leaving him to his own business. 

Pleased with the privacy, as he didn’t know whether or not he was needed to beat some sense into his stubborn kids head or comfort him, Gibbs grumbled his thanks after the retreating lawyer and wordlessly pressed into the office without knocking. 

To his great discomfort, as well as concern, it was a red-faced Tony who greeted him – the young man’s green eyes filled with suspicious moisture and his expression utterly forlorn as he stared down at the lap in a manner very much like a child being told their favorite pet had died. 

“Tony,” Gibbs frowned, hurrying over to the worked-up man, “What happened?” 

Rather than verbalize his troubles, something neither one of them had ever been very good at, Tony launched to his feet and threw his arms around Gibbs’s neck. A bit taken aback at the spontaneous embrace, as there had been no real warning such was about to happen, he blinked several times in surprise before finally returning the hug. 

“C’mon.” Gibbs grunted, giving his back a few pats, “Talk to me, kid.” 

For a long moment not saying anything, Tony simply clung to him like a koala-bear and buried his face in the crook of his neck. At a loss as to what was to be done, Gibbs simply clamped down on his slight discomfort and waited patiently for his son to recover well enough to break the embrace himself. 

“Ziva.” Tony mumbled at long last, still clinging tightly to Gibbs. 

Feeling his blood run cold at the name, as it brought back the painful memory of seeing his son with fourteen angry stitches decorating his head, Gibbs subconsciously tightened his grip and inadvertently earned himself a sharp inhale of breath from his SFA. 

“What is it, Tony?” Gibbs demanded, loosening his hold. “What did she do now?” 

Finally, and reluctantly, pulling away from the impromptu embrace he had thrust upon his father, Tony swiped angrily at his reddened eyes before promptly seating himself atop the spotless desk to bury his face in his hands. 

“She’s trying to ruin my life!” The younger man exploded dramatically, his hands doing but very little to muffle the noise. 

“Could you be a little more specific?” Gibbs inquired, completely out of his element. 

“She’s been calling up all my ex-girlfriend’s and trying to get them to claim I was abusive.” Tony grumbled, a look of disgust clouding his eyes. 

Though he was not at all surprised to find that the Israeli was employing literally any means to try and stay in the U.S, as being deported meant being sent back to a war-torn country whose prominent politicians wanted her for questioning regarding some unsanctioned missions in disputed territories, Gibbs found his disgust and outrage was not at all mitigated by the cautious anticipation of such a move. 

“She could also claim you’re a heroine-addict.” Gibbs grunted, shaking his head. “That doesn’t mean she’d ever be able to prove such a lie.” 

“Boss,” Tony frowned, “How am I going to prove I didn’t hit them? It’s my word against them?” 

Not knowing how to reply to such a very real concern, as men were almost always signaled out as the primary aggressor in domestic disputes, Gibbs scowled and risked once more that he wasn’t so goddamn awkward when it came to dealing with emotions. Because even if he didn’t know just what to say, a more emotionally intelligent person would at least know whether a hug or a back-pat or space was called for. 

“You don’t even have a speeding ticket on record.” Gibbs reasoned, finally finding some adequate words. “What judge is going to believe you beat women?” 

“One who believes in the stereotypes about Italians?” 

Spared a well-deserved headslap only because he was so distraught, Gibbs rolled his eyes and held up a warning hand – a gesture the younger man clearly understood as he cringed and gave a small grimace of apology. 

“She’s also saying I’m…impotent.” Tony mumbled, coloring profusely. “Which apparently is perfect grounds for claiming k1-visa fraud.”

Silently thinking to himself that he was going to lock himself in his room for a good twenty-four hours after all the awkwardness he had been forced to endure without warning these last several hours, Gibbs found himself staring at a large clock as he inquired into such a personal matter. 

“Well…are you?” 

“I’m gay, Boss.” Tony reminded, tripping over the last word. “I think we both know the answer to that.” 

Immensely grateful that the conversation hadn’t been inadvertently steered toward a line of thought that would give way into more personal details, Gibbs let out a deep breath and found himself able to look at his kid again. 

“Can’t you just explain that to the deportation lawyer then?” 

“I could.” Tony mumbled. “But that wouldn’t keep her from claiming I knew all-along and planned to deceive her into a sham marriage.” 

Despite being exceedingly grateful that their relationship had been terminated before the required marriage had taken place, Gibbs couldn’t help but wonder if the nuptials would have made dealing with Ziva just a tad bit easier. Because as acrimonious as divorces could be, something he knew very much about, surely they were a far cry easier than all this visa-fraud nonsense. 

“We’ll get you a better lawyer.” Gibbs decided. “Someone who knows all about this type of shit.” 

Because while the lawyer they had earlier hired had proven his weight in salt when it came to filing to correct paperwork at the right time, he would no doubt be out of his depth when it came to fighting against a vindictive woman with Ziva’s violent and underhanded tendencies. Said man was, after all, only a few years out of law school. 

“Daisy’s fiancé already gave me a name.” His child easily dismissed. 

“That’s good, - “ 

Before he could make any inquiries as to why Tony didn’t seem as happy as he should at forming such a lofty connection, he was cut off with a weary sigh from said man. 

“There’s more.” He announced, deadly serious. 

“Well, whatever it is, it can’t possibly be anymore – “ 

“Ziva’s claiming to be pregnant, Dad.”


	18. Chapter 18

Although Tony had expected a certain amount of anger from his father-figure upon hearing the news his son’s ex-girlfriend was so shamelessly using a potential pregnancy against him, all atop of claiming domestic violence, he wasn’t at all prepared for the staggering amounts of rage that radiated off said man at such a reveal. Neither, apparently, were Daisy and Hershel – a couple who, utterly unfamiliar with the more intricate nuances of Gibbs’s behavior, were left in abject shock and horror when Gibbs, after a long silence, suddenly and violently leveled an angry punch at the brick wall and managed to crack it. 

“You give me ten goddamn minutes with that thrice-damned woman and I’ll have this all taken care of in no time!” 

Having first rushed in to investigate the angry and animalistic growl the Marine had initially given when informed of the troubling matter at hand, that sound being a noise that had terrified Tony to no end, the affianced couple looked on with disbelieving eyes as Gibbs withdrew a bloody first and prepared to punch the damaged wall yet again. Quickly launching to his feet to prevent such a blow, if not to protect his father’s dominant hand than to preserve the structural integrity of the wall, Tony wordlessly stepped in front of the raging man and effectively halted the assault on the aged brick without any significant effort. Earning himself a glower for such an act, one that he didn’t necessarily take to heart given it was so clearly not directed at him as a person, Tony flinched but only a little and turned to Daisy to apologize about the damage – only to be cut off by his father leveling Daisy with a powerful look that had the both of them cringing. 

“If that bitch even thinks she can keep terrorizing my kid like this, I’ll send her body back to Israel in a coffin.” 

Protectively placing himself in front of his alarmed fiancée, even though Gibbs hadn’t truly been yelling at her but rather instead been expressing his frustration, Hershel frowned with his crooked mouth and held up a warning finger. 

“Just so we’re all perfectly clear, those words never came out his mouth.” The magistrate stipulated, his cautionary finger still crooked in Gibbs’s direction. 

Although it looked like it pained him greatly to deny to the room his promise of vengeance, Gibbs was clever enough to understand that any threats of bodily harm leveled against Ziva would only weaken their case should those words be somehow leaked to the opposing side. 

“I know you’re angry.” Daisy sympathized, green eyes full of compassion. “But vigilantism will only hurt our case.” 

Looking very much like a grade-school kid just informed he would be spending the entirety of his recess inside and writing lines for a transgression he did not commit, Gibbs glowered and twisted his mouth up in a scowl ugly enough to scare away a coyote. 

“And a boot down her throat is only going to hurt her.” 

Before Tony could so much as advise his father as to the fact that it was not at all comforting for him to be hearing his father threatening the woman who was now potentially carrying his child, Hershel stepped in and met Gibbs’s glower with an impressively impassive look. 

“Mr. Gibbs, I really am going to need you to stop incriminating yourself in front of me.” 

Either impressed or cowed when it came to facing someone so clearly not intimated by his wroth, as in was a rare occasion when such occurred, Gibbs sighed in defeat and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“How?!” The Marine demanded, throwing up his hands in the air. “How do we even know she’s pregnant in the first place?!” Pausing for a moment in his tirade to casually wrap up his bleeding knuckled with a faded handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket, he then added. “Or that the baby is even Tony’s?” 

Trying his hardest not to put on a guilty expression at such a question, as really Tony felt he had done no wrong in returning the abandoned sunglasses to Ziva, Tony steadfastly avoided his father’s interrogative glare and earnestly prayed that the older man would not grill him on the way home about such a personal matter. Because while admitting to such a stern and oftentimes humorless man that he had been unable to successfully preform in the bedroom with the majority of his ex-girlfriends hand certainly been difficult, admitting to his pseudo-father that he had allowed himself to be coerced into fucking said reprobate via knifepoint would inarguably be a herculean task given his father’s fierce temper and penchant for vigilante justice. 

“We don’t.” Daisy voiced, sounding exhausted and still very wary of Gibbs. “We’ll have to ascertain for ourselves that fact. And soon.” 

Seeing as how Ziva could reasonably be three months pregnant at that point, if indeed she was not lying about the results of their last violent escapade, Tony found he couldn’t help but nod along to such a somber pronouncement. Because if a custody battle was to ensue atop all of the immigration fraud drama, he could not help but want such a trial to come about before the baby’s birth rather than after – as the very real fear that the Israeli would abscond to hide in a foreign country with their child, with or without the court’s permission, troubled him to no small degree. 

“Why the hell haven’t you done that already!?” Gibbs barked, grimacing as he sneaked a peek at his bleeding knuckles. 

“I’ll remind you that I only caught wind of this nonsense yesterday.” Daisy snapped back, her pallid cheeks coloring in embarrassment at the outburst. “And pregnancy or not, I think it’s important that we first tackle Ziva’s targeted harassment and incitement of perjury.” 

Unable to argue with such a sound argument, as anyone with a working brain could tell it was of the utmost importance to keep Ziva from gathering up a posse of exes who might be willing to perjure themselves in front of a court for a certain price, or simply out of spit, Gibbs slumped down in a chair and grimaced as his damaged hand landed ungracefully on the armrest. 

Tony,” Hershel began, at last beginning to relax now that Gibbs wasn’t completely consumed with rage, “I know you’re a bit disconcerted at the moment, but I do think you ought to consider getting yourself an order of protection. 

Fingers subconsciously moving to touch the vivid outlines of the scar mercifully hidden by his hair, Tony sighed out his answer. 

“I already have a restraining order out against her.” 

“One that she was clearly in violation of if she’s claiming to be pregnant.” Gibbs immediately quipped, face still richly colored with anger. 

Cringing inwardly at his father’s abject lack of impartiality whenever it came time to defend his child, Tony hid his embarrassed frown his now-cold cup of coffee. 

“It takes two to make a baby.” Tony sighed, his own guilt in the matter making his stomach twist uncomfortably. 

“Yeah, well, knowing Ziva she bullied you into it.” Gibbs quickly argued, refusing to find his child culpable. 

Nearly choking on his coffee at such a statement, as it was so very near to the truth of things, Tony studiously avoided looking in anyone’s face as the memory of a rusted knife being pressed against his manhood began circulating through his mind. 

“I hope you two just what you’re getting into.” Gibbs advised, clueless of the discomfort he had just caused Tony. 

Looking very much like a grizzled old war veteran of some private war only he knew about, Judge Gottman eyed Gibbs with a look of the utmost somberness. 

“That little hellcat doesn’t scare me one bit, Mr. Gibbs.” The magistrate scoffed, his wonky lips quirked in what might have been a smile. “I was born a practicing Jew, you see, and I’ve spent more than half a lifetime dealing with angry Jewish women – this one won’t be my last.”


	19. Chapter 19

Although it was blissfully quiet during the short ride back to his house, something that would have ordinarily given him a great sense of relief after the last several emotionally charged hours, Gibbs felt no real sense of peace at all as he continued to worry and stealthily steal concerned glances at his son during the infrequent pauses at stop signs and stoplights. Because as skillful as said passenger was at concealing any trace of inner-turmoil, which really was quite a lot, a father simply knew when something was not quite right with their child. 

For one thing, thought Gibbs, the expression in his SFA’s expressive green eyes just wasn’t right – the usual false joviality, while still there to a certain degree, not at all working at its usual full capacity. Nor was the false smile, usually so convincing, at all that deceiving. 

“Look, Tony –“ Gibbs began, stumbling over the words, “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to make light of that woman attacking you earlier.” 

Gradually having begun to refer to Ziva by anything other than her name the longer Tony’s lawyer consultation had gone on, as he sure as hell wasn’t going to humanize the wretch after having been given insight into just how badly she wished to destroy his son’s life, Gibbs still found himself spitting out the replacement name as if it left a taste most bitter and poisonous in his mouth. 

“She didn’t ‘attack’ me.” Tony deflected, stubbornly avoiding Gibbs’s glare. 

Knowing his son well enough to know when he was being outright lied to, the determining factor of such being the distinct lack of eye-contact and smart-assed quips, Gibbs’s blood turned cold as his mind took to imagining all the heinous things that woman could have done to his boy that might have resulted in said man feeling the need for concealment. Such was his great concern, as well as general unease, that Gibbs’s didn’t even have time feel wounded at having such an important matter concealed from him. 

“Tony – you’ve got to stop lying to me.” He signed, purposely turning the wrong way so that they might have more time to talk. “I can’t take much more of it.” 

There elapsed a long and sullen silence then, one of a stubborn nature that threatened to completely threatened to overwhelm Gibbs as he deliberately kept taking wrong turns so that he might prolong their conversation. Because as underhanded as such a method truly was, which was shamefully so, he knew that the moment they returned back to the house Tony would immediately go about locking himself in his room and avoiding Gibbs. 

“I didn’t say no.” 

Starling a bit at the sudden interruption to the silence, Gibbs took a long moment to absorb and decipher the composition of such a short sentence. But, when at last the meaning finally managed to nestle itself within his understanding, Gibbs found himself swallowing down both rage and bile as he gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Struggling greatly not to resort to any shouting or yelling, a rather difficult feat as that was his default way of dealing with any unpleasant emotions, he clamped down harshly on his tongue and fought in vain to keep away the remembrances of a particularly gnarly string of violent rapes the NCIS had solved just last year. 

“You didn’t say yes, either.” Gibbs finally managed, overwhelmed but completely sure of such a fact. 

“I don’t see how I could have.” Tony mumbled, very nearly inaudible. “She had a knife.” 

Although Gibbs had evidently correctly assumed that coercion had been at play, he had been not at all prepared to hear that an actual weapon, rather than ‘just’ a threat of one, had been employed for such nefarious purposes. In fact, so shocked and alarmed was he, Gibbs actually went so far as to slam on his breaks – very nearly giving Tony whiplash as he carelessly opened himself up to being nearly rear-ended by a distracted driver. 

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?!” Gibbs cried, struggling greatly to keep his eyes on the road as his whole body trembled with rage. “To me? To anyone?!” Nearly dizzy with rage, and beginning see red, Gibbs forced himself to suck in a deep breath before resuming his tirade. “For God’s sake, Tony, you don’t have to be afraid of that woman anymore, not with me around – “

“I’m not scared!” Tony barked, effectively causing a shocked Gibbs to swerve into the other land. “I was embarrassed!” 

“Embarrassed?” Gibbs parroted, hardly believing his ears as he quickly steered himself back into the proper lane. 

Just as that feeble excuse hadn’t made sense to him when delivered by the eight female officers Francis Ramsey had assaulted last winter, it didn’t make any better sense to him now. Because regardless of how they had been dressed, and regardless of how much they had drank during their respecting leave on shore, neither one of those blonde women had been ‘asking for it’ – regardless if half of them had been far too terrified of the gun in their assaulter’s hand to technically say no. And just as Tony hadn’t been ‘asking for it’ by returning a pair of expensive sunglasses to his ex in order to avoid any unnecessary legal action, so too could he not be blamed for being to afraid to resist a notoriously violent woman with a knife in hand. 

“Yes, Gibbs, embarrassed.” Tony recited, effectively breaking the second silence as he shifted his gaze to stare down at his lap. “I mean, I let a tiny-ass woman assault me.” 

Bristling at the very notion that his child believed himself to be culpable for his assault in any manner, Gibbs bit down on his tongue to keep from verbally chastising the man for being so obstinately stupid. 

“You didn’t ‘let’ that woman do anything.” Gibbs finally managed, only the faintest sliver of anger sullying his words. 

Looking very much like a man who had lived a thousand lifetimes, each of them being incredibly depressing and morose in nature, Tony shook his head at the carpeted floor of the truck and sighed to the world his displeasure with life. 

“Enough, Gibbs.” Tony insisted, wearily closing his eyes. “I could have pushed her off, but I didn’t. Hell, I could’ve punched her – but I didn’t. I just took it. I laid there and I took it.” 

Although the troubled young man did not make any moves to vocalize such a thought, Gibbs knew that Tony’s line of reasoning was clouded by the many past recollections of his father beating on him with a belt as he just laid on his bed and ‘took it’ as well. 

“She had a knife, Tony.” Gibbs reminded him, flinching inwardly as he imagined just what sort of knife that woman might have employed for such a task. 

Unwilling to be bested at the best of times, especially when it came to something he felt so strongly about, the brunette glared at Gibbs and shook his head. 

“And I had a gun.” He announced, frowning deeply. 

“Tony.” Gibbs began, still awash with anger and frustration. “The fact that you even thought to bring a weapon along to a simple drop-off shows just how scared you were of that woman.” Pausing for a moment to let that thought sink in, he then continued. “Nobody could you blame you for freezing up, Son – that’s a perfectly natural reaction to something…like that.” 

But even though he said the words with conviction, believing as any father did that the world couldn’t possibly view his child in any negative light, Gibbs knew there still existed people in this world that had a nasty penchant for blaming victims of crimes such as these. Hell, even the jury that had presided over the Ramsey case had sided in favor the victimizer, their belief in the significance behind the lack of clearly vocalized dissent overpowering the passionate testimony of the women themselves. Still very sore at the memory of having born witness to such a farce of a trial, even though he seen justice done by giving the partners of the victims the address of the fat rapist, Gibbs scowled and worked to contain his temper for both their sakes. 

“You can’t blame yourself.” 

“I can.” Tony argued, sounding very much like a petulant teenager. 

“You shouldn’t!” Gibbs exploded, spittle flying from his mouth unto the dashboard. 

Already cursing himself for such an animalistic outburst, as such a response usually only caused Tony to shut down, Gibbs growled aloud his frustration and locked the doors to keep Tony from bolting at his brief intercession at a stop sign. 

“Why the hell do you keep blaming yourself for everyone else’s failures?” 

When Tony made no reply other than to stare out the window at the passing scenery, Gibbs pressed onward, refusing to let the matter rest until at last the stubborn boy saw sense. 

“If I had come to you and blamed those officers for getting raped last year, what would you have said to me?” 

Although Tony still remained obstinately mute, Gibbs could tell by the horrified expression in his green eyes that the very thought of blaming such victims repulsed him. Though, much to his great dismay, it was also made abundantly clear by said man’s stubborn frown that he held more compassion for those women than he did himself. 

“I really wish you would go and see a therapist.” Gibbs sighed, feeling thoroughly defeated by the way their conversation had turned out. 

Looking very much like Gibbs had just suggested to him that he quit the NCIS and join a monastery, Tony narrowed his green eyes in abject displeasure and glared at the dashboard. 

“I’m already embarrassed enough as it is.” 

“Tony – “ 

“No, Gibbs.” 

Unwilling to allow himself to be completely conquered in this war of wills, as he had already lost so very many battles, Gibbs steeled himself and went about trying another tactic – bargaining. 

“What if I agreed to see one, too?” 

Having endured nearly a decade worth of Ducky pleading with him to do the same, it was only when Tony’s wellbeing (rather than his own) was in jeopardy did he even deign to consider the notion. 

“You’d do that for me?” His son asked, looking very much like Gibbs had just offered him his arm. 

“I would do anything for you, Son.” 

And if that meant he would be forced to endure a long hour of dealing with an annoying shrink trying to pry from him the feelings he preferred to keep secret, well, so be it – so long as his attendance at such a session ensured that Tony felt safe in the fact that he could not be mocked for doing as his boss did, it would certainly have been worth it. 

“In that case,” Tony began, clearly wishing to shoo away the rapidly encroaching awkwardness, “Could you drop me off at Kate’s? I promised to help her and Seamus paint their living room.” 

Pleased to have been given an easy out, Gibbs let out a baited breath and nodded. 

“Sure.” 

Newly reconciled once more, at least for the moment, the duo spent the brief jaunt over to Kate’s house in companionable silence – they neither of them saying a word until Gibbs’s pulled up to the curb in front of the cheery yellow house. 

“Gibbs?” Tony asked, hand resting on the door handle. 

“Yes?”

“I’ll talk to someone.”


	20. Chapter 20

Despite Kate’s many protestations to anyone who would listen (namely anybody foolish enough to let themselves be caught in the elevator with her) that she most certainly would ‘not’ be prevailed upon to move into the fixer-upper her long-time boyfriend had fallen in love with during their house-hunting quest of last year, her wily Irish-born boyfriend had inexplicably won out and managed to coax her into accepting the home with many repeated promises of a spa-quality bathroom and walls painted in any color she saw fit. 

But while the renovations had gone relatively quickly, with both Tony and Gibbs often stepping in to lend a hand with the more physical aspects of the labor, all while Ducky assisted Kate with the more design-oriented details, certain minor touches had been, of necessity, put on a brief hiatus while the chief overseer of such fought for her life in the hospital. 

Inexpressively overjoyed that Kate had, indeed, lived and recovered well enough to return to the project site, as well as been able to participate in the majority of any involved labors, Tony found he could not even be minorly annoyed about the prospect of painting on a relatively empty stomach. Because as dizzying and nausea-inducing as such a labor would surely be, the comforting fact still remained that the living room walls were the last project that needed completing before Kate could finally call her house a home. And, after having gone through absolute hell in the last year, nobody deserved a pleasure such as that anymore than the wounded agent did. And so, with that thought in mind, Tony strolled into the house through the freshly-painted kitchen door – not even bothering to knock as his enthusiasm propelled him forward at an eager speed. 

“Most people knock, DiNozzo.” Seamus quipped, seated at the kitchen table as looked over a newspaper and sipped at his afternoon tea. 

Giving the pale-skinned man a pointed look, one that he hoped accurately conveyed his incredulity at having found the history-professor clad in nothing but his Superman boxers, Tony grimaced theatrically before stealing a beer from the refrigerator. 

“Most people put on pants after breakfast.” Tony returned, staring quite pointedly at his watch. “Or at least after lunch.” 

Before Seamus could so much as defend his choice of clothing, a Herculean task Tony was not sure anyone could accurately accomplish, the lady of the house limped into the kitchen wearing an impatient glare that marred her pretty and paint-coated face. 

“Most people would help a crippled woman finish painting her damn living room.” Kate growled, narrowing her dark eyes at them both. 

Reasonably shocked at the sight of the overtly-feminine agent wearing actual sweatpants, as well as an oversized and faded t-shirt, Tony remained mute as he struggled (and failed) to come up with some smart quip about the hobo-esque ensemble. 

“Oi,” Seamus pipped, “Relax. I’m having myself a break.” 

With nary a drop of yellow paint on his person, aside from a few sparse droplets in his dark hair, Tony briefly found himself wondering just what the Irishman was taking a break from. Evidently of much the same thought, Kate scowled ever deeper and rolled her good eye. 

“You’ll have yourself another sleep on the couch if you don’t get back in here.” 

Wisely backing down, as such a threat did not bode well for any man in a relationship, Seamus grinned cheekily and made cow-eyes at his girlfriend. 

“How could I ever say no to such a loving face?” 

Despite having no great love for the Irishman’s superstitious nature, nor his tendency toward irreverent behavior, Tony found he could not help but respect said man and his overall character. Because while most men would have taken to the hills upon hearing the news that their girlfriend had been shot in the head and might soon prove to be permanently brain damaged, Seamus’s loyalty had devotion had never once wavered at any point during the recovery. And that, if not anything else, was certainly worth an unending amount of respect. 

“You can’t.” Kate purred, lovingly yet still quite smug. “That’s why this relationship works so well.” 

Unable to argue against the fact that he all but treated his girlfriend like a veritable princess, and seeming absurdly proud of such a fact as a result, Seamus grinned wolfishly and all but slithered over to Kate, the expression in his blue eyes amorous as he planted a deliberately sloppy kiss on her smooth cheek. And then, not at all satisfied with that display of affection alone, Tony watched in mild discomfort as the freckled man wrapped his arms about her tiny waist and planted yet another kiss at the nape of her neck – meanwhile careful all the while not to jostle the metal cane his girlfriend so despised. 

“You know, if this isn’t a good time for you two – “ 

“Oi, grow up.” Seamus teased, reluctantly pulling away from Kate. “This isn’t anything you haven’t seen before.” 

While the statement was certainly true enough, as Tony had on many occasions walked in on them doing far worse, it still stood to reason that he did not particularly enjoy the company of any couple when said individuals so clearly raring to jump each other’s bones the moment they were alone again. Because not only did it make him feel like a pesky third-wheel, so too did the thoughts of Kate romping around with Seamus evoke in him a certain degree of jealous protection he was sure most ‘older brothers’ would feel toward their ‘younger sisters’.

“Are you sure?” He pestered, feeling greatly out of place. 

“I’ve already ordered pizza to be delivered at seven.” Kate argued. “You can’t leave me with all that temptation.”

Giving a very theatrical and pointed look at what could only reasonably be described as her size six figure, said body proportions having always incensed Ziva into a jealous rage, Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head in a playfully patronizing manner. 

“Oh, Katie,” He sighed, putting on the air of a concerned parent, “I don’t know what those magazines have been telling you, but, and I do promise you this, you won’t explode if you eat a second slice of pizza.” 

Looking absolutely murderous upon his usage of the nickname she so despised, Kate had lobbed a plastic spatula at him only to miss and send it crashing into the backyard via the window she had left open to air out the paint fumes. 

“I’ve already told you,” The brunette grumbled, making no move to retrieve the hurled cooking utensil, “I’m saving my calories for Abby’s wedding.” 

Seeming no more concerned about his girlfriend’s mistreated cookware than he would be about one of his student’s ballsy attempts at turning in late work, Seamus snorted loudly at the very idea his girlfriend had any need of reserving calories. 

“That wedding is weeks away.” The Irishman dismissed, sounding slightly unsure of himself. “How are you going to keep yourself from having a treat in between then?” 

“Look,” Kate growled, touching her flat stomach, “If I’m going to have to wear a dress that…interesting, I’m sure as hell going to make sure I look good in it.” 

“The dress cannot be that bad.” Seamus argued, finishing up his tea with three big gulps. 

Having seen the monstrosity for himself, and determined that it could only be described as something an eccentric witch from the 1600’s would wear, Tony exchanged a knowing glance with Kate and silently willed her not to make him say something unkind about Abby’s impulsive selection. 

“Let’s start painting.” Kate suggested. “I want to finish before Ducky gets here.” 

“And I want to finish before I eat.” Tony agreed, willing his empty stomach not to grumble. 

“If were lucky, maybe the paint fumes will trigger Kate’s hunger cues.” Seamus teased, taking it upon himself to lead the way into the living room. 

“For God’s sake,” Kate cried, “If I promise to eat a second slice, will you two shut up?” 

Exchanging a quick look with Seamus, as well as a mutual expression that seemed to convey they both wished to play the part of a clown, they both of them answered in unison. 

“Maybe.” 

Resignedly deciding that such an open-ended promise was as good a guarantee as she was ever going to get, Kate mumbled something decidedly Gibbs-like beneath her breath as she followed after the both of them into her half-painted living room. 

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighed. 

With only two adjoining walls left to be painted, the likes of which had already been primed and prepared by an eager-to-please Seamus, the three of them made relatively quick work of the project – he and Seamus both tackling the upper portions of their respective walls while Kate, who could no longer safely and adequately make use of a ladder, labored away at the lower portions. 

So when at last they had finished an impressive two hours later, a full hour and a half before the pizza was due to arrive, they all cleaned themselves off as best they could in the kitchen sink before moving to collapse on the sofa in the living room with generously filled glasses of wine. 

“Oi,” Seamus suddenly pipped, in between episodes of ‘Fixer-Upper,’ “I’ve got myself one hell of a headache. Would you mind if I had a lie-down before the pizza arrives?” 

As the question was directed at Kate, rather than himself, Tony fixated on the television as Kate agreed to the innocent request and set about procuring for her boyfriend some aspirin and water. Figuring that the protective brunette would be awhile at her coddling, as she had stubbornly insisted upon escorting Seamus up the stairs, Tony stretched out ungracefully and took the liberty of changing the channel to something more palatable to his tastes. Losing himself temporarily in the minor amusement he felt in watching Simon Cowell utterly obliterate a man who thought he could ‘play’ the guitar, Tony almost didn’t hear the telltale clacking of the cane that signaled Kate’s return. 

“Americas Got Talent.” Kate smiled, sinking unto a cushion beside him. “I love this show.” 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather watch one of my movies?” Tony teased. 

Giving him a look that clearly conveyed she would rather eat glass than do anything of the sort, Kate stole the remote and turned the television up a few notches. Glad for the action, as he had been struggling to hear the program, Tony yawned and leaned on the armrest as he thought himself lucky for such a strong friendship. 

“Could I ask you something, Tony?” Kate suddenly asked, during an allergy commercial they both found exceedingly annoying. 

“Of course.” Tony obliged.

Expecting to have been faced with yet another question about whether or not he thought she ought to get surgery to replace her damaged eye with a less garish glass prosthetic, something he was never quite sure about how to answer, Tony was taken greatly off guard with she flipped the usual narrative and directed her inquiry after him. 

“What was bothering you earlier?” 

“Me?” Tony repeated. “Bothered?” 

No longer one of the very many people he could fool with forced nonchalance, something that both greatly comforted and perturbed him, Kate leveled him with a firm glare that Gibbs might have been proud of. 

“Yes – you, Tony.” Kate agreed. “You came in looking a bit troubled.” 

“I did not.” He argued, hoping she would take the hint and drop the matter. 

“Tony,” Kate sighed, “I may have only one good eye left, but I assure you, I can see with the other one just fine.” 

Had she dared presume to know him on such an intimate level just a year ago, Tony might have scoffed at her and playfully that she stop using her college-level psychology courses to justify her assumptions. But, as it was, they had grown rather closer over the lengthy course of her healing and recovery, and Tony just didn’t have it in him anymore to razz and rankle the brunette in the same manner as he had done before. 

“If I tell you what was bothering me, you have to promise not to get weird with me.” 

“Tony,” Kate smirked, “If you’re trying to confess to me that you’re the one who stained my good bathroom towels with pasta sauce last week, I already know. Abby told me.” 

Too worked up at the notion of willingly outing himself to a person for the first time, the thought of Abby betraying his confidence in so trivial a matter was hardly a blip on his radar. 

“No, Kate. Not that.” Tony sighed. “And before you blame for the clogged toilet, too, that was Abby.” 

Figuring turn about was fair play when it came to betraying confidences of equal consequence, Tony brushed away any minor feelings of guilt and laughed as Kate wrinkled her nose. 

“I don’t know how that girl shits so…drastically.” 

“I don’t want to know.” Tony admitted. “Though I’m sure it’s the Caff-Pow.” 

It was Kate’s turn to laugh then, although her mirth took on more of a tinkling giggle in nature compared to Tony’s deep rumble of laughter. 

“All that ‘pleasantness’ aside,” Kate smiled, “What did you want to tell me?” 

Despite knowing that he could trust the woman beside him with his life, Tony still found it hard to allow himself to be open with her. 

“Before I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even Seamus.” 

Frowning a bit at so serious a stipulation, as it was not often Tony was ever so serious, Kate looked at him with no small amount of concern clouding her face. 

“Tony, you’re in some sort of trouble are you?” 

No doubt thinking back on the time The Director had him participating in a not quite legal undercover mission, one that had greatly affected his health, Kate looked almost ready to call Gibbs and tattle on him. 

“No…not really.” 

“Not really?” Snorted Kate, her frown only deepening. “C’mon, Tony – spit it out. I’m starting to get worried.” 

Understanding that it was not at all fair to put such a burden on Kate when she already had so much on her plate, Tony forced himself to continue so that his efforts, and her compassion, were not wasted. 

“You know Renly, from Game of Thrones?” 

“…Yes?” 

“Well,” Tony breathed, “I’m…like him.” 

Pausing for a moment to contemplate what that might mean, Kate was silent for a few seconds before at last her good eye widened to a comical proportion. But, much to Tony’s great discomfort and Kate’s resultant embarrassment, her conclusion was not at all the correct one. 

“You’re not plotting with someone to overthrow the government, are you?” 

Opting not to be insulted at such an assumption, as their were many governmental agencies that did just that in other countries, Tony sighed and buried his face in his hands. 

“No, Kate.” He sighed again. “I mean I’m gay.” 

Although Tony could hear her choke on her wine, the brunette impressively managed to keep her voice somewhat neutral as she gave voice to her understandable doubt. 

“But…you’ve had at least a hundred girlfriends.” 

“And you’ve had dozens of boyfriends before Seamus came along.” Tony calmly retorted, unwilling to take offense were none was intended. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t he was the one when you met him.” 

Taking a moment to process that line of thinking, Kate sipped frantically at her wine as she no doubt struggled to find the correct thing to say. 

“Does…Does this mean you have a boyfriend?” 

“No.” Tony frowned, thinking of Juan with no small amount of bitterness. “But the point still stands.” 

Finally putting aside her wine glass, as it was now empty and she looked ridiculous trying to sip at air, Kate nibbled at her bottom lip for a moment before speaking once more. 

“When…when did you figure all this out?” 

“Sometime last year.” Tony confessed. “Though I didn’t know for sure up until a few months ago.” 

A look of great compassion came over Kate’s face than, and Tony found himself looking away so that he might not have to bear the weight of such loving sympathy and concern. 

“You’ve kept this to yourself a whole year?” 

Resorting to humor and sarcasm as he always did when faced with uncomfortable feelings, Tony smirked feebly and shrugged his shoulders. 

“It’s not like I could just send out a group email, Kate.” 

“I suppose not.” Kate agreed, now fiddling with a manicured nail. “How…how did Gibbs react, though?” 

No doubt thinking that Gibbs’s reaction had been that which earlier bothered Tony, he immediately stepped in to disabuse her of such a ridiculous notion. 

“How do you know I told Gibbs?” 

Looking very much like Tony had just asked her what 2 x 2 was, Kate rolled her eyes and slapped him upside the head. 

“Everyone knows that you and Gibbs have no secrets.” 

Strangely comforted by the notion that apparently ‘everyone’ else could see the trust and adoration Gibbs had for him, even when he himself could not always believe in its existence, Tony found himself smiling softly even though his stomach was still twisted up in knots. 

“Don’t worry, Kate. Gibbs took it great.” Tony assured. “Although he wasn’t really all that happy I had kept it from him for so long.” 

Looking a bit guilty, if not proud, as Tony rubbed the part of his head her ‘promise ring’ had made contact with, Kate stole his glass and took a long sip of wine. 

“How hard did you get headslapped for that one, DiNozzo?” 

“I didn’t get headslapped at all.” Tony returned, both smug and proud. 

Stealing yet another sip from his wineglass, and leaving a bright smear of red lipstick on its rim, Kate scowled and shook her head. 

“It must be nice to be Gibbs’s favorite.” 

“Yeah.” Tony grinned, reveling in the fact. “It really is.”


	21. Chapter 21

Despite Daisy Fossaway’s many stern warnings and pleading insistences that he do no such thing, Gibbs had found his parental instincts had kicked into overdrive upon dropping Tony off at Kate and Seamus’s – all but prompting him to ignore the comely lawyer’s admittedly sage advice all in favor of taking matter into his more ‘specialized’ hands. Because as well-trained and ferocious as the pretty blonde thing was at securing severe sentences, when it came to interrogation and intimidation nobody could beat Gibbs. 

Which was precisely the reason why he found himself in some seedy little diner a full three hours away from the home he had left Tony snoring in, his military senses on high alert as he tried to keep himself from getting stabbed or fondled by anyone of the myriad reprobates crowding the place for their hour of midnight degeneracy. 

But small though the ill-reputed establishment was, Gibbs soon found to his great disconcertion and rising anger that the fiery Israeli was nowhere to be seen – her skinny yet muscular ass seated neither at table nor both. Rapidly beginning to suspect that he had been stood up, either out of direct malice or well-founded cowardice, he clamped down on his tongue to keep from cursing loudly and moved toward the exit – all but prepared to throttle anyone foolish enough to get into the path of his rampage. Because while a three-hour drive was relatively nothing whereas Tony’s well-being and happiness was concerned, the fact still remained that this clandestine meeting with that woman had necessitated his telling of several lies to said man – something that just didn’t sit right with Gibbs after having resented Tony for months for doing the very same thing to him. 

“Leaving so soon, Gibbs?” 

Having already placed his hand against the warped wooden door of the establishment, fully intent to leave the cesspool behind and vanish it from his memory, Gibbs found his palm being penetrated with slivers as he jerked it away from the unsanded wood to turn and face the woman to whom such a familiar accented voice belonged. 

“You’ve cut your hair.” Gibbs accused, scowling at the clear attempts at concealment. 

“How well observed.” Ziva patronized, stepping out of the shadows of the skinny recess she had hidden herself in. 

Now standing in better lighting, if cheap florescent lighting could be labeled as such, Ziva’s not-so-innocent shift in appearance stood out at its full extent. For not only had she lobbed off several inches of her dark hair, leaving her with something he thought might be called a bob, so too had she taken great pains to cake her face in enough make-up to give herself the appearance of sharp cheekbones and dimples.   
“It’s not like you to hide, Ms. David.” Gibbs patronized in turn. “We’re you afraid I would come armed?” 

Shivering slightly as a chilly gust of air blew in through a needlessly open window, Ziva scowled darkly and pulled her oversized jacket closer to her body. 

“It would not have made any difference to me, Gibbs.” She assured. “Because I am armed.” 

Already having noticed the slight bulge in her jacket pocket that denoted the presence of a handgun at the very least, as well as having fully expected her to come with some sort of weapon, Gibbs shrugged his shoulders and gestured at a relatively clean booth. 

“Why don’t we sit down, Ms. David?” 

Scowling at his abject refusal to address her with her no-longer-existent title of agent, much less her first name, Ziva narrowed her dark eyes suspiciously and sneaked a glance out of one of the many murky windows lining the place. 

“How do I know you have not brought back-up?” 

Meeting her gaze with a steely one his own, Gibbs gave her his honest answer. 

“Because if I had, you’d be arrested by now.” 

Taking him at his word, Ziva nodded curtly before moving on to her next concern. 

“Are you wearing a wire?” The Israeli demanded, her eyes already roving over his body. 

“Would you like to frisk me?” 

Ignoring the catcall from a hooker who insisted that ‘she’ would very much like to do so on Ziva’s behalf, Gibbs waited impatiently for the paranoid Israeli to make her decision. 

“Let us sit.” She decided, gliding past Gibbs to seat herself at the very table he had just moments ago suggested. 

Settling himself across from her to keep up the appearances of their conversation being a normal one, thought such a position very much opened himself up to being shot pointblank, Gibbs leaned back casually into the slightly sticky cushion covering the back of the booth and eyed Ziva with his best interrogative glare. 

“I do not know why you glare at me.” Ziva sighed. “You know I am not afraid of you.” 

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that matter, Ms. David.” Gibbs dismissed. 

Because as fearless as the woman truly was, which was alarmingly so, Gibbs swore he could still see some sliver of concern shining in her cold, dark eyes. 

“But I didn’t come here to discuss how scary I was.” He continued. “I came here to – “ 

“Threaten me away from Tony.” Ziva interrupted, a smug smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Yes, I know.” 

Just barely resisting the urge to slap that self-satisfied look right off her face, Gibbs bit down on his tongue for a moment to regain his composure. 

“I was thinking we might first start with a bribe.” He corrected, hating himself for even giving voice to such an idea. 

Seeming to sense his great discomfort, as well as knowing of his uncorruptable nature, Ziva looked reasonably surprised at the announcement. 

“The great and honorable Gibbs is paying out bribes now?” She taunted, her painted red lips smearing as her accent caused her to place harsh emphasis on his name. 

“No.” Gibbs growled. “What he’s trying to do is avoid murder charges.” 

Looking as if he had done nothing more than threatened her with a strongly worded letter, one that at most contained a few swear words, Ziva yawned dramatically before giving response. “Just what are you offering?” She interrogated, glancing at her watch. “Be specific.” 

“I’ll help you leave the country, Ms. David.” Gibbs began, immediately launching into the primary points. “And I’ll give you $10,000 on top of it if you agree to never contact my boy again.” 

Despite his offer being far more generous than anything she could ever hope to receive from anybody else, Ziva’s face clouded with abject offense. 

“I am not leaving this country.” She argued, the words a hiss. 

“You don’t have a choice.” Gibbs scoffed. “You’ll be deported if you stay…maybe even extradited.” 

Paling slightly at the though of being sent back to the country of her origins, as she was almost certainly wanted on suspicions of conspiracy and terrorism, Ziva glowered openly at him and reached up a slightly trembling hand to smooth down her cropped hair. 

“They cannot deport me if they cannot find me.” The Israeli rationalized. 

“You plan on spending your life on the run?” Gibbs growled. 

Looking unphased at his growing hostility, which only served to rile him more, Ziva shook her head decidedly and once more looked at her watch. 

“$10,000 is more than enough for me to start a new life in some remote part of this country.” Looking thoughtful, she then added, “Appalachia would be easy to hide in.” 

“Oh no.” Gibbs smirked. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get the money unless you leave the country.” 

While such terms were admittedly harsh, given that he was asking her to return to a war-torn country, Gibbs knew damn well that her vendetta against his child would never cease unless she was oceans away.

“You do not want me to leave, Gibbs.” Ziva stated, her tone and expression both rather ominous. 

“I assure you,” Gibbs began, feeling a growing sense of unease, “That I do.” 

Inwardly bracing himself as the Israeli rose to her feet, as he was already anticipating the defensive maneuvers he would have to use to disarm her, Gibbs rose to his feet as well and prayed that there would be no casualties that night. 

“You’d be sending your grandchild away.” Ziva announced, theatrically tugging apart her jacket. 

Despite having insisted to both Tony and Daisy that the woman in question couldn’t possibly be pregnant, Gibbs now found himself confronted with his sheer nativity in the shame of a small, yet noticeable, swell in the skinny Israeli’s belly. 

“What…what do I have to do for you to leave the baby with Tony and disappear?” 

Wrapping her coat up once again to conceal her belly, Ziva huffed indignantly and jerked up her chin at him. 

“There is nothing you can do.” She smirked. "I am keeping the baby." 

Slamming his fist loudly on the table, and soliciting several concerned and curious glances as a result, Gibbs grabbed the woman by the collar of her jacket and tugged her face uncomfortably close to his. 

“Why?” He hissed. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Revenge.” Ziva breathed, the word a growl. "I will ruin his life like he ruined mine."


	22. Chapter 22

Having not wanted to hurt a pregnant woman, even if said person was truly a horrible creature and thoroughly deserved it, Gibbs slackened his hold on the collar of her jacket when he noticed her wince in pain. Wisely seizing such a moment to facilitate her escape, as her innate sense of survival kicked into overdrive, Ziva quickly jerked away from the grip of his calloused hands and landed a powerful slap on his cheek. Far too enraged to even register any shock at the fact that she had struck him, nor able to feel any true relief that it had not been a bullet instead, Gibbs simply blinked and caught her hand before she could land another blow to his still-stinging cheek. 

“Do not put your hands on me again.” The glowering Israeli hissed, clawing at the fingers holding her wrist hostage. 

Flinching inwardly as a small rivulet of blood began to run down the top his hand toward the warped floorboards, Gibbs gave her wrist one last warning squeeze before surrendering the appendage back to its owner. 

“It’s not so fun when you’re on the other end of it, is it?” Gibbs jeered, his cheek still aflame and throbbing. 

Still visibly bristling from his assault, as such had almost certainly hurt her ego more than she could bear, Ziva glowered dangerously and huffed as she set about meticulously straightening the collar he had so abused. 

“I am a woman.” Ziva protested, pale face all aflame with rage. 

Feeling not at all guilty for his rough handling of her person, as every time he came even remotely close to such a feeling images of Tony’s stitched up head came to mind, Gibbs shook his head at her assertion and unflinchingly delivered his response. 

“You’re not.” Gibbs declared, his tone significantly icy. “You’re a monster.” 

Because as much as it pleased Ziva to think herself a strong woman, Gibbs knew all too well that she was no such thing. For not only was she not in any way similar to his mother, steadfast and compassionate even as cancer slower ate her alive, neither did she possess Shannon’s magnanimity and tenderness when faced with stress and upheaval. 

“Careful.” Ziva hissed, dark eyes glistening coldly. “I may be a monster, but I’m a monster in possession of your grandchild.” 

And even as she spoke, the malicious brunette cradled the tiny swell of her belly, encapsulating it not as a protective mother was wont to do but rather as a narcissist in possession of a powerful bargaining tool. 

“How can you use your child as a pawn?” Gibbs demanded, disgusted at the very thought. 

Because if anyone should know better than Tony what it what it felt like to be seen more as a bargaining chip than a child, it was most certainly the woman whose father had brainwashed her half-brother into a life of terrorism. 

“I do like to do this.” Ziva defended, turning down her lips in a frown. “But I will do what it takes to stay in America.” 

Knowing a threat when he heard one, Gibbs frowned and immediately set about disabusing the woman of her delusions of remaining in the states. 

“They can still deport you without your baby.” He cautioned. 

Because even though such cases were exceedingly rare, he had, in fact, seen it done a handful of times. Although in those cases, the baby in question had already been born, making for a far easier extradition process. 

“They won’t.” Ziva insisted, still touching her belly. 

It was with a sickeningly smug expression that she looked at him, her lips upturned and her eyes sparkling with a victory she had not rightly earned. And, just like that, Gibbs knew she had him by the proverbial balls. 

“What do I have to do to get you to agree to surrender the baby to Tony?” 

Far too wise too forgo making use of the new leverage she had just been granted, yet still as impatient as always, Ziva gave voice to her primary stipulation straight away. 

“I need your promise to help me hide should they chose to extradite me.” 

Having already willingly offered her such relatively harmless terms, Gibbs was fully prepared to acquiesce to them again – just so long as he could get her to agree to his end of the bargain. 

“And what of the baby, Ziva?” He queried, unwilling to yield in any degree on such a matter. 

“In any scenario, that baby stays with me.” 

Feeling face go all aflame with sheer rage, Gibbs found himself shoving his hands down into his jacket pocket to keep from manhandling her again. 

“I would not hurt a child.” Ziva defended, looking highly insulted as she correctly deduced his cause for concern. 

“I don’t know that.” 

Because while Gibbs was reasonably sure that Ziva wouldn’t outright strike a defenseless child, especially one of her own, he could still see a certain degree of emotional and physical neglect coming into the picture – especially if said child was born looking more like Tony rather herself. 

“I would send you a postcard every few months.” Ziva bargained. “And perhaps even let you have a phone call every Christmas.” 

Uncomfortably reminded of the way in which Senior would shuttle Tony off to a boarding school every September, and oftentimes keep him there over holidays instead of sending him to his maternal family, Gibbs bristled and scowled at the thought of his grandchild being forced to endure the same the same fate of being kept away from those who loved it most. 

“That’s not good enough.” Gibbs protested. “That child needs to stay with Tony, and you know it. What kind of life will it have with you, Ziva? A life on the run?” 

Eyes clouding as she no doubt reflected on her tumultuous childhood, one spent being constantly on the run from bombings and airstrikes, as well as a terrorist father, Ziva frowned and looked at him with a pitiful expression. 

“If I give my baby to Tony, I will never see it again.” 

Unable to argue with her on the matter, as there was no way in hell either he or Tony would ever allow her to be within spitting distance of the child in question, Gibbs went about using another tactic to secure her agreement. 

“We would keep you updated, Ziva.” He promised. “Hell, I’d write and send pictures to you ever week if that’s what it took.” 

“And if I would wish to hear my child’s voice?” 

Understanding such a primal need, as Gibbs still took to listening to Kelly’s voice on the recording machine down in his basement, he quickly amended his agreement. 

“You could call.” He stipulated. “Just so long as you understand that you’ll never have custody.” 

Had it been any woman other than Ziva standing before him, Gibbs might have found himself facing feelings of guilt and pity as he watched her face cloud with the turmoil any semi-decent mother would feel when faced with the prospect of giving up custody of her child. 

“If I agree,” She began, eyes becoming suspiciously wet, “You must promise to do everything in your power to keep me legally in America.” 

“I will.” Gibbs agreed, relief flushing his body as he realized she was submitting. 

“And you must promise to hide me if they wish to deport me.” 

“I will.” 

Taking a long moment to bolster herself for securing the deal, Ziva blinked several times in the harsh lighting before sticking out her hand. 

“Then I think we are done here.” 

Though it disgusted him to do so, Gibbs took compassion on the woman and returned her handshake. 

“For your sake, we had better be.”


	23. Chapter 23

Although Tony had been greatly excited and enthused about the prospect of playing on an official basketball team for the first time since he had graduated college, even if said team was only of a YMCA variety, he soon came to accept that he had no real choice but to cancel on his earlier made plans with Charles, as he reasonably felt that the wedding of a close friend greatly superseded that of his participation in a non-profession basketball game – even if said invitation to the wedding had come far later than he might have liked. 

And so, it was with a certain mixture of regret and nervousness that he picked up his phone to call the engineer – the minor anxiety coursing through his body, while annoying, a more than understandable side-effect when he paused to consider that the last thing he wanted was for Charles to think he was being blown off simply on virtue of his homosexuality. Because his own newly-discovered orientation aside, even if Tony ‘were’ straight that particular bit of bigotry would be a move far too shitty for his taste. 

Unfortunately for him, Tony didn’t really have all that much to consider what he would say to the party he was about to surely offend. Because Charles, with the similar military-training Gibbs had received, took it upon himself to answer his call after just one ring. 

“Hello, Tony.” Came the warm voice. “How are you?” 

While he had spent the greater part of that morning helping an overwhelmed Daisy to track down a last-minute caterer, as hers had promptly dismissed themselves out of the contract on spurious claims when they had discovered the fiancé in question was a full-blooded Jewish man, Tony kept that little caveat to himself as he did not want to incriminate himself in any way by answering any well-meaning follow-up questions as to what he might have done to said caterer in retaliation. Because as relatively harmless as spurring a handful of his former frat brothers into eviscerating them on Yelp truly was, Tony was fairly certain that such ‘slander’ wasn’t at all that legal.

“I’m good.” Tony yawned, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes with one hand. “How are you, Charles?” 

“I’m well.” Came the professor’s pleasant baritone. “I’ve been preparing for tomorrow’s game, as a matter of fact.” 

Struggling his hardest not to cringe guiltily at the hopeful voice on the other end of the line, even though he knew perfectly well that his conversational partner could not see him, Tony nibbled nervously at his bottom lip before steering the conversation to a safer topic – wishing to put off the inevitable just a little longer. 

“Do you think you guys are ready?” 

While the question was certainly insipid in nature, almost embarrassingly so, Tony felt it was not completely out of place when he paused and considered that his one of his college friends had once broken his elbow in a similar amateur basketball game. 

“Certainly.” Charles was quick to agree. “With someone of your skillset now joining us, we should easily demolish the competition.” 

Now caving completely into feelings of guilt, as the engineers voice was greatly reminiscent of a young child expressing hopes that Santa would bring them many gifts, Tony frowned apologetically and sank back down unto his bed. 

“Yeah…about that.” 

Pausing to let his cowardly segue sink into the scarred man’s head, Tony nibbled mindlessly at his fingernails and prayed for a calm conversation. Because as much as he knew that not everyone was like Ziva, he still could not help but associate raised voices with vicious blows.

“Is everything all right?” 

Made to feel all the more guilty by the genuinely concerned inquiry, Tony found he had to literally force his answer out. 

“I’m fine, Charles.” Tony asserted once more, heartily hating himself for the disappointment he was about to bestow on the innocent party. “But…I ran into an ex-girlfriend of mine recently and…well, she invited me last minute to her wedding this Sunday. Apparently she had tried to get an invite to me before, but I just never got it.” 

There a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then a resigned sigh. 

“You want to go to the wedding.” 

In any other conversation, with any other person, Tony would have ardently defended himself with the assertion that the majority of the world’s population would rather attend an open-bar wedding than participate in an amateur game of basketball. But, as it was, Charles had not outright accused him of anything that would warrant such a glib response and, as such, Tony soon found himself playing peace-keeper.

“I do.” Tony readily agreed. “But not if you can’t find a replacement for me. I wouldn’t want you to have to forfeit.” 

Not only because he found the redhead worthy of such meagre efforts, but also because Tony could still easily recall the homecoming football game he had been forced to forfeit in elementary school after six of his teammates had been permanently benched for spying on the volleyball team whilst said fellow fourth-graders had showered and changed into their uniforms. 

“We can make do.” Charles politely assured. “Our swingman has a cousin who might work…provided he’s sober that is.” 

Although the professor sounded more analytical than he did manipulative, Tony couldn’t help but frown deeper as his feelings of guilt increased and threatened to overwhelm him. 

“What time is the game, Charles?” He questioned, having all but forgotten. “Maybe I could do both.” 

Because while it would certainly be a hassle to try and juggle both events, Tony was certainly willing to at least try for the mutual benefit of both Daisy and Charles. 

“Tony,” Charles began, his voice stern and slightly-scolding, “I wouldn’t want you to – “ 

“What time is the game?” Tony repeated, nowhere near patient enough to endure the other man’s courtesies. 

Quickly fetching out a sheet of paper from his desk, as he did not wish to again forget the start time of such an important game, Tony tapped a pen on his thigh in an impatient manner as he awaited the answer to his simple question. 

“The game starts at ten, Tony.” 

Although it was the optimal time, as the wedding ceremony itself was set to begin at four, Tony was fairly certain he would be able to juggle both events successful. For not only was he not a part of the wedding party, and subsequently expected to show up early, neither was he a person ‘entirely’ incapable of getting ready in a quick fashion. 

“No need to pull a wino out of the drunk-tank.” Tony assured. “I’ll be there.” 

“That’s just great!” Charles replied, his sheer relief radiating through the line. “I’ll try and make sure nobody elbows you in the face.” 

Immensely grateful for that small bit of kindness, as Tony harbored no real desire to attend an upscale wedding with a bloody face, Tony smiled widely and fell backward unto his bed. 

“Thanks, I’ll try and return the favor.” 

Rather than reply to the sentiment with mutual appreciation, Charles instead lapsed into a brief silence before answering, instilling in Tony no small amount of anxiety. 

“You and this woman must be close.” 

Although the statement was most definitely not a question, Tony found it necessary, if not only polite, to give answer to it. 

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Daisy is great. You’d absolutely love her – anyone would.” 

“Is she’s anything like you, I’m sure I would.” Charles readily agreed. 

Although it spoke of no small about of juvenility, Tony soon found his cheeks aflame with a violent blush at the flattering thought that said engineer used him as a basis for comparison when it came to judging people. 

“Nah.” Tony dismissed, face still uncomfortably warm. “Daisy is far sweeter than anyone could ever hope to be.” 

And it was no exaggeration Tony was making either, his belief in her deserving such an accolade having been backed up several times by his witnessing of her unaffected kindness and pleasant humbleness. 

“You must really like this girl.” 

“Yeah.” Tony agreed, smiling dopily. “Hell, at one point I thought I might even marry her.” 

While Tony wasn’t quite sure, he was almost certain that he heard a small sigh coming from the other of the line. 

“It’s nice of her fiancé to let you attend the wedding, then, is it not?” 

“Yeah.” Tony nodded. “Daisy went and found herself a real keeper.” 

But despite his great enthusiasm at his close friend having found someone with which to share her life, Tony couldn’t help but feel a small bit of regret when he paused and considered just what his orientation was causing him to miss out on. 

“You’re not obligated to attend every wedding you’re invited to.” Charles suddenly quipped, having clearly mistaken his nostalgia for longing. “You could always mail her out a gift if attending the wedding would make you too uncomfortable.” 

Even though his mother had told him multiple times that snorting was rude and disgusting behavior, Tony found himself doing just that. 

“Why on earth would I be uncomfortable at a wedding?” 

“Most men I know wouldn’t take kindly to seeing the girl they love getting married to someone else.” Charles explaining, a genuine sympathetic tone coating his words. 

Unable to keep himself from chuckling at such an assumption, no matter how reasonable such a deduction was, Tony smiled and rubbed at his eyes once more before answering. 

“Charles, I don’t love Daisy – not like that at least.” 

In truth, Tony loved Daisy as only one survivor could love another – their mutual and deep understanding of each other having come about by the unbreakable strings bonding over their trauma had created. 

“Oh?” 

“No.” Tony reassured. “We just have…a very special friendship, is all.” 

They did, after all, know far more about each other than anyone else in the world likely would – both Gibbs and Hershel included in that quantifier. 

“I’m glad you have a friendship like that.” Charles expressed, his tone suddenly taking on an awkward and embarrassed edge. 

Not so clueless that he didn’t realize why such emotions should have suddenly surfaced, they no doubt have come about after jealously assuming Tony’s affections belonged to someone else, Tony quickly set about to getting them back on a more neutral standing with one another. 

“Look, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tony smiled into the phone. “But for now, I’ve got to go and try to hunt down some nice candles for a wedding gift.” 

“Try Canterbury’s.” Charles advised, his voice gradually returning to normal. “It’s by the old Applebees and the new Barnes and Nobles."


	24. Chapter 24

Although the YMCA facility Tony had been directed to was notoriously understaffed and underfunded, due to what Tony could only suspect was its location in a more ‘ethnic’ and poorer part of the city, he found he still couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of a good game of basketball – although, truth be told, he wasn’t exactly sure just how ‘good’ such a game could be for either team when the court was so very warped and the hoops so dangerously wobbly and crooked. 

“I apologize for the quality of the court.” Charles frowned, having no doubt caught Tony’s look of surprise when they had stepped out of the locker room. “But this is the only YMCA that will allow co-ed leagues.” 

Thus said, the notably articulate professor gestured at the young woman in question, said girl’s pale cheeks coloring brightly as Tony found himself staring at the interesting dichotomy of one brown eye on the left and one green eye on the right. Heterochromia, he thought it was called, and just as rare as genuinely green eyes. 

“Don’t be alarmed.” The rotund Teddy smiled, slapping Tony’s shoulder with one strong, brown hand. “Theodosia can land three-pointers as easily as I can wolf down pizza.” Pausing a moment to dab at his already sweaty brow, the jovial man then added. “Girl is short, but lucky as sin.” 

Before Tony could so much as offer the profusely sweating man the handkerchief he had stuffed into the pocket of his basketball shorts, much less declare that his initial shock at Theodosia’s presence had been eye-related and not at all associated with sexism, William had needlessly jumped in to back up the aging African-American’s claim. 

“She once won all eight cakes in our church cakewalk.” The blonde man explained, looking far more like Yukon Cornelius than Tony cared to admit. “Nearly gave Old Lady Gray an aneurism because of it, too.” 

As neither William nor ‘Dozy’ seemed all that concerned about the elderly lady in question, Tony came easily to the conclusion that said woman was far from pleasant at best. 

“Forget the cakes.” An aging professor Gibbs’s age insisted. “Theodosia bought three scratchers on the same day and brought home $13,000.” 

“To be fair, Marvin, it was only $12,000 after I took my sorority out for drinks.”

Reasonably alarmed at the thought of a girl who looked no older than fifteen going out and drinking, in any bar, Tony exchanged horrified looks with the Baptist Preacher, Teddy. 

“Child,” The man reprimanded, “Aren’t you nineteen?” 

While the skinny girl had enough grace to look at least moderately chastised, it was with a cheeky grin she gave her reply. 

“Aren’t ‘you’ diabetic.” Dozy asked, more concerned than sassy as she gazed at the sugar cookie in her teammate’s hand.

Looking thoroughly conquered at such a sound argument, Teddy shook his head and gave the reprobate a bemused smile before biting into his sweet again. 

“Can we discuss the new guy now?” Cassius asked, looking every bit as imperious and domineering as the Roman emperor he was surely named for. 

Despite being only thirty minutes into this pre-game soiree of sorts, Tony had already developed for himself the opinion that the black-haired youth was intolerable and only on the team due to his remarkably tall stature. 

“What’s there to talk about?” The freckled Shadrach demanded. 

“He’s a body, isn’t he?” Meshach finished, nearly a perfect mirror image of his older brother save for brown eyes rather than hazel. 

Looking very much like a first-year university student that had been told by his professor his argument was flawed and left wanting, Cassius stuck out a fat bottom lip and turned his chin up in a petulant manner that would have set Gibbs off almost immediately. 

“We could have used Julius.” 

“We would be cleaning vomit off the court if we did.” The heavily-tattooed Francis voiced, earning himself an earnest nod of agreement from the non-English speaking Rafael.

Sensing a growing tension between Cassius and the rest of the team, and wishing to avoid such as the conflict might lead to blows before the game had even begun, Tony stepped up and attempted to interject a little humor into the situation. 

“If only there was an Abednego to go with the Shadrach and Meshach.” 

While it was an admittedly cheesy joke, its Biblical nature have almost ensured of that, Tony failed to see why such a profound silence settled over the court at it. At worst, he thought, someone should have awkwardly coughed before changing the subject. 

“Tony -” Shadrach or Meshach began. 

“There is an Abednego.” Meshach of Shadrach finished.

Before Tony could make an innocent inquiry into where said man was, as really what were the odds of said man not playing the game when two of his brothers did, Charles cut him off and spared him any further embarrassment. 

“He chose to stay on the compound, Tony.” 

Despite Tony’s innate sense of great curiosity, something that had often proved to be both a blessing and a curse, he clamped down on his tongue to keep from asking any important questions – knowing, as he did, just how exhausting and uncomfortable being interrogated about your past truly was. 

“Forget about it.” One of the Irish twins insisted, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Let’s talk strategy.” Charles quickly agreed, clearly just as much a peacemaker as was Tony. 

Far too new to be a part of any inside jokes, Tony found himself slightly taken off-guard as everyone but he and Charles snapped to attention and clumsily saluted the redheaded. 

“Yes, Sir, Sergeant, Sir.” The team intoned as one, loud and discordant. 

“How many times must I tell you not to address me in that fashion?” Charles grumbled, looking as peeved as a coffee-less Gibbs. 

Already having great experience with men who didn’t like being addressed so formally, Tony stepped up to further defend his new friend. 

“And just so you know,” Tony warned, “A salute that sloppy in the military would have your real sergeant handing your collective asses to you.” 

Confident of the assertion, as Gibbs had once shared with him the hellish consequences he had faced after failing to salute a senior officer, those being an impossible number of laps and seemingly endless kitchen duties, Tony stood his ground until at last the majority of them looked either embarrassed or guilty. 

“And just how would you know anything about the military?” Cassius demanded, clearly bristling at having been corrected. 

“His dad was a Marine.” Charles explained, incorrectly making the flattering assumption that Gibbs was actually his biological father. 

Despite being greatly touched that such a mistake in identities was still being made even after all these years, the first of which having occurred mere months after first joining Gibbs as his partner, Tony found it was necessary for him to correct the redhead – as his conscious dictated that he could not allow anyone to go about believing in a falsity, no matter how great such an assumption made him feel. 

“Gibbs – “ 

“Yeah, Yeah,” Dozy interrupted, more impatient than rude, “We can get back to you later.” Pausing for a moment to make sure that Tony wouldn’t try and speak over, having no doubt faced the concept of men talking over her many times, the blonde teenager then continued onward with her mild tirade. “I need to be out of here by three, you guys. If I miss another cheer practice they’re going to let Maggie be captain.” 

Her unlined face easily denoting that such a fate would be akin to death, Dozy looked pointedly at Charles for some sort of official reply. 

“If you’re as lucky as usual, we’ll be out of here by two.” 

Meeting Charles diplomatic gaze with her own, Theodosia smiled wild and winked. 

“I was the one hundredth customer at Starbucks this morning.” She bragged. “I won a $25-dollar gift card on the spot.” 

“Jesus,” Cassius breathed, causing Teddy to scowl, “I’m taking you to Vegas when this is all over.” 

Not so subtly edging away from her fellow college-student toward the safe Teddy, Dozy sniffed at the young man’s offer and put on an expression that clearly conveyed she would rather eat glass than go anywhere with him. 

“I’d rather let Hannibal Lecter take me home.” She hissed, confirming for Tony his earlier thought.


	25. Chapter 25

Even though Tony had been the one to promise and take on the role of Designated Driver, something neither of them had wanted to when attending a wedding with so fine a selection of liquor in their open-bar, Gibbs had inadvertently found himself taking on the thankless job after three hours long hours of watching his son slowly become entirely intoxicated via wine and bourbon. And while that, in itself, hadn’t been enough to warrant Gibbs removing themselves from the reception rather early, far before the cake had even been sliced up and doled out, the fact that he had found Tony vomiting into a rosebush outside the venue certainly was. 

“You didn’t have to get drunk just because there was an open-bar.” Gibbs scolded gently, more concerned than enraged. “I mean for God’s sake, you have work tomorrow.” 

Currently slumped over the backseat of the truck, in a position Gibbs hadn’t even thought possible, Tony grimaced and pressed one of his arms over his eyes. 

“I’ll just have Mary Bloody in the morning.” Tony decided, his words slurred nearly beyond recognition. “I’ll be fine.” 

Resolving to lock his liquor cabinet just as soon as he got them home, Gibbs scowled and made his voice a little firmer. 

“The last thing you need is a breakfast of vodka.” 

Looking very much like he had just discovered his coveted movie collection had been either destroyed or stolen, Tony frowned petulantly and rolled over to face the back of the stained truck seats. 

“Swop swerving.” 

Only marginally resisting the urge to slam on his breaks and send the errant drunkard flying into the center console, Gibbs breathed heavily through his nose and forced himself to wait until tomorrow to correct his wayward agent. 

“I’m not swerving, Kiddo. You’re just drunk.” 

“M’not.” Tony groused, curling in on himself as Gibbs came to a halt at a stop sign. 

Stalling at the sign a moment longer than necessary to allow his agent’s stomach to settle a bit, as Gibbs harbored no real desire to see the floorboard his truck layered in vomited lobster and liquor, he shook his head and chuckled softly before disabusing his son of such an erroneous position. 

“You most certainly are drunk.” 

Far to incapacitated to make a proper rebuttal to his argument, Tony simply settled for curling into a tighter ball and ignoring his employer for the next several blocks. Content enough for the silence and newfound docility, as Gibbs had earlier been forced to argue with said man about whether or not his dress shoes had been left behind in the rosebushes (they hadn’t), he settled back against his seat and idly tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the cadence of the piano music playing softly from one of his favorite stations. 

“Dad?” 

Quickly turning down his music at the feeble sound of his kid’s voice, as he knew whatever said man wanted must be important if he was using such a term of endearment, Gibbs looked in the rearview mirror and quietly requested to know what it was that he wanted. 

“We stop at Taco Bell?” 

More amused at the question than annoyed, Gibbs snorted rather than yelled before he shook his head in calm refusal. 

“It’s after midnight, kiddo.” 

“But I’m hungry.” Tony whined, clutching at his stomach for emphasis. 

Even though it made him feel like a rather cruel dictator, Gibbs held his ground and refused to give in, not even wanting to imagine the damage a few upchucked tacos could do to his upholstery. 

“Do you really want to be throwing up tacos later?” Gibbs tried to reason. “Because I can tell you right now, it isn’t pleasant.” 

“M’not throwing to going later.” 

Biting back an amused chuckle at the butchery to the English language, Gibbs smirked instead and slowly took a left turn – concerned that if he went too fast his kid would either spew vomit or fall to the floor. 

“You are.” He stated. “And the rosebushes can testify to that.” 

“M’not going to.” Tony again asserted, although this time he sounded much less sure. 

Even though it went against several things he believed in, the most notable ones being spoiling children and rewarding bad behavior, Gibbs turned right when he was supposed to go left and inwardly cursed himself for getting so soft. 

“I’ll pick up some Taco Bell.” He grumbled. “But you’re not getting it until tomorrow.” 

Muttering his thanks with sloppy words coated in immense happiness, Tony then snuggled up to the old blanket Gibbs kept in the backseat in case of emergencies, his clinginess and general childish behavior only increasing the drunker he became. Opting not to point out said observation, as it would likely only hurt the drunkard’s feelings and prompt him into a fit of angry tears, Gibbs simply turned up the volume on the radio and allowed the classical music to lull his son into a sleep as he begrudgingly navigated his truck to the nearest Taco Bell. 

Much as he had anticipated, the wait time for the drive-thru was nearly intolerable, said line being thronged with incoherent drunkards and hopelessly confused stoners. In fact, it was nigh on two in the morning before he was even able to get the food – his sacrifice in such a matter going all but unappreciated as Tony lay ungraceful and utterly unconscious in the back of his truck. 

Muttering darkly about the plight of father’s, and all too aware that he sounded exactly like his own father as he did so, Gibbs frowned deeply as he pulled his truck up into his garage and resolved to send Tony on coffee runs for the next three weeks to even things out between them. Perhaps even four weeks, he thought with a somber grin, hauling Tony out from the backseat and cradling him in his arms despite the pain it caused his back. 

“Stubborn little shit.” Gibbs grumbled, gritting his teeth as he navigated through the dark house. “Why couldn’t you have just stopped at five?” 

When he received no answer other than a sleepy mumble, Gibbs sighed and promptly deposited his precious cargo unto the sofa, his ego smarting greatly as he forced himself to admit that he would never be able to cart a man that size up the stairs without significant danger to both their lives. 

Having to content himself with doing only what he was comfortably able to, Gibbs sighed softly his frustration as gently turned Tony’s head so that he could choke on any vomit if he puked in the middle of the night. That done, he then fetched the smaller garbage can from the downstairs basement and positioned in front of the passed-out man, knowing from previous episodes such as this that said agent would be far too dizzy to even rise from the couch – much less make it to the bathroom. And then finally, in a gesture of sympathy as well as love, Gibbs yanked the yellow afghan Shannon had made decades ago off the back of the sofa and carefully draped it over the comatose form, not wishing for his child to awake and find himself both sick and cold. Because, after all was said and done, only one of those things was necessary for him to learn his lesson. 

Thus satisfied that he had done all he could do for his idiot of a child, Gibbs then turned out all the lights and made his way toward the stairs, eager to climb into his own bed and sleep away the sheer exhaustion of the evening. But before he could so much as put a foot on the bottom step, much less lift his foot from the floor, Tony stirred and groaned pitifully from his makeshift bed. 

“You okay, Kid?” Gibbs asked, already retreating away from the steps. 

After a lengthy silence, one in which Gibbs took to mean he had simply been hearing things, Tony whimpered out his answer. 

“Dark.” 

Immensely grateful that the problem in question was so easily fixed, Gibbs silently crept over to where the remote was resting on the coffee table and plucked it up. Fumbling about in the darkness for the power button, as Marine instincts aside his eyesight was slowly going to piss with age, he held back a frustrated sigh until, at last, his thumb brushed against the desired button and brought the aged electronic to life. Quickly lowering the volume down to zero, as he hadn’t the patience to search about for the small rectangle that would mute it, he then returned the remote to its proper spot and stole a glance at Tony – hoping against hope that he had fallen back asleep in the time it had taken him to turn the television on. 

Much to his great chagrin, it was not to be so. Slightly sweaty despite the relative coolness of the room, and looking more than just a little green in the faint light of the television, Tony wore on his face an expression of abject discomfort and turmoil. 

“You gonna be okay, Kiddo?” Gibbs questioned, grunting a bit as he lowered himself unto his knees in front of him. 

“Don’t feel good.” Tony fussed, balling up a bit of the blanket in his fist. 

“That would be the bourbon.” Gibbs advised, patting the inebriated man’s shoulder. “Do you feel like you need to throw up?” 

Pausing for a moment to consider the question, and turning all the greener as he did so, Tony frowned pitifully but shook his head. 

“Do you want a towel to put over your eyes?” Gibbs pressed, hating himself for not being able to do anything more useful. 

Shaking his head again, and then frowning as he immediately regretted such actions, Tony sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“You gotta help me out here, Kiddo.” Gibbs implored. “Tell me what I can do for you.” 

Face flushing red now instead of a garish green, Tony turned his face into the cushioned and mumbled his answer. 

“Sit with me?” 

Looking as hopeful as Kelly had been wont to do when seeking permission to share her parent’s bed after a particularly nasty heartbreak, Gibbs found he couldn’t refuse even such a simple request even if he had wanted to. 

“Lift your head up a moment.” Gibbs required, slowly rising to his feet. 

Glad that Tony was nowhere near sober enough to find the way in which Gibbs’s knees cracked at the motion comical, much less remember it in the morning, he muttered his encouragements as his agent did just as requested. Moving quickly so that said young man need not exert himself anymore than strictly necessary, Gibbs then slid unto the couch and allowed Tony to lay his sweaty head in his lap.

“Mad at me?” 

Chuckling a bit at the childish question, Gibbs began rubbing the nauseas man’s shoulder. 

“I’m certainly not amused.” He answered, not wanting to be overly harsh when his boy seemed so ill. 

But even though the answer had been mild, especially so by Gibbs’s standards, Tony frowned deeply and looked ready to cry. Not know what to do, as he had never been any good at dealing with tears, especially ones which came from his children, he simply panicked and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. 

“Tony,” He hummed, “Being drunk isn’t the worst thing you’ve never done.” 

When that proved to be an even worse answer, judging by the anguish that came over his SFA’s face, Gibbs’s anxiety increased tenfold. 

“You said you…said you weren’t mad.” The brunette accused, sounding more betrayed than angry. 

“About you getting drunk?” Gibbs questioned. “Of course I’m not amused about that.” 

“No!” Tony snapped, looking entirely forlorn. “Bout me being…you know.” 

Despite having no real idea how Tony had gotten it into his head that Gibbs was angry about any such thing, he quickly launched into parental mode as he worked (once more) to dispel such an ignorant notion from his boy’s head. 

“Are we back at this again?” 

When he received no answer other than a pitiful sniff, Gibbs sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. 

“Look Tony, I’m not going to tell you this again.” He began, his warn both a warning and comfort. “I don’t care if you’re…I don’t care if you’re gay. I don’t.” Pausing for a moment to reign in his frustration with the whole ordeal, he then continued. “In fact, there is literally no way I could care any less than I do right now about such a matter. I want you happy, that’s all there is to it.” 

“Want to be happy, too.” Tony agreed, his voice impossibly small. 

“You will be.” Gibbs promised, smoothing his hair. “You will be.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please review! It motivates me!

Despite having always harbored a certain reluctance when it came to visiting the NCIS morgue, the blindingly white room having always put him off with its absurdly hospital-like smells, Tony still found himself pushing into said building at a quarter to six – the general eeriness of the such a sterile place only magnified by the way in which the overhead lights had not yet been turned on by maintenance. Shivering mildly from the creepy atmosphere, as well as from the genuine chilliness of the room, Tony frowned and rubbed at his exposed fingers as he tried, and failed, not to think of his beloved mother passing away in a room that smelled just the same as the one he was currently trapezing through. 

He had barely been eight when she had died, far too young to understand the intricacies of the cancer eating away at her brain yet more than old enough to understand that the disease was vicious and doing something irreparably awful to his mother. Rapidly wasting away into a veritable stick of a person as she quickly lost her will to eat anything even remotely solid, it was not long at all before Imogen DiNozzo had found herself permanently affixed to a hospital bed, her countenance sweet as she suffered but her willpower, unbeknownst to Tony, all but gone by the time seven months had elapsed. 

His mother had taken to cradling him again once thusly confined, her arms weak and her bones sharp as she help him to her boney chest and whispered sweet nonsenses into his tiny, uncomprehending ears. And even though nobody had given him the decency of explaining to him just what terminal truly meant, Tony had somehow grown to realize his mother wasn’t ever going to be leaving that bed again. Because not only had she indulged his innocent request that they watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ in the middle of April, a tradition they only partook of doing Christmas time, so too had he not failed to realize the significance of the unshed tears in her green eyes. 

And so he had done what any small child would do when faced the cold and harsh reality of an approaching death of a loved one. Wobbly-lipped and desperate, Tony had clung to her skinny and painful frame as tightly as a koala, his grip still clumsy and awkward with childhood as his long-suffering mother gently ruffled his hair and planted kiss after hungry kiss atop his tiny fingers and fat cheeks. 

Had Tony known she would be dead just hours later, mercifully passing away in her sleep even as he watched, he would have worked his very hardest to imprint every last detail of her face into his young mind. 

Because, as it was, he could now only remember her beautiful eyes – their shade and shape not at all lost on him throughout these long years as they were very much the selfsame eyes he wore on his own face. That, he frowned, and the inky blackness of her curls – the loose and thick strands having often tickled his face during their play before the cancer had stolen it all away and left her bald and skinny. 

God help him, thought Tony, pressing ever further into the morgue, he would do almost anything if it would mean he got the chance to her voice again. If not to hear her clumsily crooning Disney songs into his ear as she rocked him to sleep after a nightmare, then at the very least to hear a snippet of her sage advice again.

Because even if Gibbs had gone above and beyond to support him during this troubling time in his life, when nearly everything seemed so unbearable and bleak in his eyes, nothing in the world could ever replace the love of a mother who knew just how to hold him in order to make everything right in his world again. Imogen, thought he with a sad smile, would have easily shooed away his fears about his sexuality as she had once easily shooed away the bold crows that had once took to ravishing her garden one summer when he was still quite small – and she would have all but flayed alive any man or woman who dared harass him because of the fact with the dangerously sharp fingernails his father had always likened to talons back before her death had robbed said man of his sense of humor and familial love.

Gradually feeling his heartrate begin to increase as the thought of his life after his mother’s passing began to crowed into his mind, the great majority of such involving drunken beatings and outright banishments to whichever school could be bribed into taking him, Tony squared his shoulders and resolved not to weep as he shivered violently and navigated toward the resident Medical Examiner’s favorite table with quick, yet heavy, footfalls. 

As could only be expected, Tony found said man seated peacefully atop said piece of equipment with a book in lap – the tomb of such an aged and dusty nature that his nose took to itching whilst he was still several feet away. Looking more than just a little content as he slowly hacked away at the enormous volume, no doubt savoring the alone time his habitually early arrival at the morgue provided him, Ducky hummed softly to himself and showed no real signs of even noticing he had a new, and alive, visitor to his premises. And so, hating himself all the while for interrupting what was so very clearly important alone time, Tony opened his mouth and made to announce his arrival – only to be disconcertedly cut off by the Scottish man who capriciously chose, at that moment, to make it known that he had, indeed, noticed his approach all along. 

“Anthony.” Ducky smiled, gently close his book and setting it aside. “What brings you so early to the morgue?” 

Resisting the urge to crack some sort of joke about nobody ever really being prepared to visit the morgue, Tony nibbled on his bottom lip a bit before finally gathering his courage well enough to request an audience with the resident makeshift therapist. Because as much as he had promised Gibbs that he would speak to a professional, he couldn’t help but give into the primal urge and need to test the waters of such with a watered-down version of psychiatrist first. 

“I need to talk to you.” Tony managed, the words rushed but comprehensible. “If you aren’t too busy, that is.” 

Looking more than a bit offended at the very idea that he could ever be too busy with something to help his work-family, Ducky frowned his censure at Tony before carefully setting aside his book at the foot of the table. 

“Never you worry about that, Anthony.” The older man insisted, gracefully slipping off the table and unto the floor. “I’m all but certain my ‘Big Book of Biomes’ will still be awaiting me when we finish.” 

“Are you sure about that, Duck?” Tony questioned, giving way into clownishness to conceal his anxiety. “A book that tantalizing might disappear the moment you take your eyes off it.” 

Refusing to allow him the pleasure of a retort, much less an eye-roll, Ducky raised an expectant brow at his visitor before raising a question of his own. 

“Shall we away to my office?” 

“I suppose that’s as good a place as any.” 

And with that, Tony wordlessly began to follow after the Scotsman as he was led the way toward the seldom used office, his great disdain for the dusty box of a room greatly outweighed by the fact that he wished for total privacy for the conversation that was to follow. Because as generally considerate as Abby was when it came to respecting the concept of a private conversation, the fact still remained that her innate curiosity had often won out over her politeness and prompted her to listen in on several discussions she had no real right to observe. 

“In you go now.” Ducky encouraged, gently ushering him into said room. 

Having already spent a great deal of time in such a space back when he and Kate were still struggling to adjust from hatred into friendship, Tony needed no further directions to seat himself in the only chair as Ducky authoritatively assumed his usual position atop the desk itself. Helplessly cringing at the uneven dynamic it created, no doubt used by the Medical Examiner for that very purpose, Tony frowned and found himself staring at the dust-coated floorboards. 

“Now, then.” Ducky smiled, crossing one long leg over the other. “What has brought you to my office, Anthony?” 

Never one for great eloquence at times of trouble, Tony shrugged helplessly and all but mumbled his answer in a very Gibbs-like fashion. 

“I need advice.” 

Smiling as indulgently as a grandfather might when faced with one of his grandchildren making a particularly precocious remark of statement, Ducky tutted and gave his mild scold with no real trace of annoyance. 

“That was a given, my dear boy.” 

Not at all prepared to simply blurt out the secret he had been holding hostage for so long, yet having failed to devise a way in which he might better navigate the conversation along an easier passage, Tony froze and stiffened as he frantically scrambled to come up with something meaningful to say. 

“There is no need to panic, Anthony.” Ducky advised, accurately reading his mind. “Take all the time you need.” 

Despite being grateful for such obliging kindness, the Medical Examiner’s enduring patience did but little to quell Anthony’s anxiety at the dilemma facing him. Because as much as he was certain that the Scottish man was the perfect man to go to for matters such as alternative sexualities, the frustrating and sad fact still remained that Tony ran the risk of greatly offending said man by giving a voice to the open secret said Scot had refused to even willingly acknowledge once in his life. And harboring the self-same preservation tactics as his older colleague, and knowing full-well all the anxiety and turmoil such a process evoked, how on Earth could he ever rationalize forcing another closeted homosexual into acknowledging his sexuality when he, himself, could not yet do such a thing? To even consider such a notion was intrinsically selfish in nature. That Ducky had had more time to come to terms with his homosexuality met but little, not when he had so stubbornly chosen to remain closeted after so many long years of adulthood. 

“I think I’m gay.” Tony finally confessed, figuring it would be safe enough to focus on himself for the moment. 

Whether Ducky’s utter lack of surprise or reaction stemmed from already knowing or genuine apathy, Tony could not right deduce, he could say only that he was grateful for the neutrality and general lack of probing of awkward questions. 

“You think,” Ducky began, “Or you know?” 

Fully aware that the Scotsman was using the needless question in order to force Tony into acknowledging the fact for himself and the accompanying benefits if provided, the utmost important benefit of such the acceptance of himself, Tony sighed aloud his frustration at such a manipulation but answers all the same – his answer, if not steady, firm and devoid of doubt. 

“I am.” He declared, the admission sending a thrill up his spine. “I’m gay.” 

Shivering a bit as his whole body flooded with the reality of such a statement, Tony shivered and marveled at just how good a feeling outing himself provoked. Because as frightening as it had surely been, which was quite so, the following feelings euphoria that followed had allowed him, momentarily, to forget such unpleasant feelings. 

But if Ducky shared in his joy, he chose not so show it. And while Tony at one time might have naively chocked that up to his being a good and proper physiatrist by not wishing to direct his patient via facial expression, he knew full-well that the Medical Examiner’s tensed up back was more a symptom of envy rather than the desire for proper posture. Wisely beginning to sense that he was delving into dangerous territory, with a man whose respect he wished to keep, Tony nibbled at his bottom lip and briefly considered fleeing from the room. But before he could so much as formalize a proper excuse, much less articulate it, Ducky had relaxed his posture and was smiling benevolently once more. 

“That was very well done, Anthony.” He applauded. “I’m sure that was rather hard for you to say.” 

Gradually relaxing as all traces of bitterness evaporated from the older man’s face, Tony nodded and smiled meekly. 

“Maybe so,” He agreed, “But if felt great to say it.” 

Nodding along in agreement, a sad looking playing in his eyes, Ducky smiled softly before giving him an expectant look. 

“Was that all?” He queried, quirking his brow yet again. 

Although it gave him no pleasure to disabuse Ducky of such a notion, Tony found himself shaking his head in the negative – not at all ready to surrender the conversation when they had already come so far and made such great strides. 

“I need to know how to come to terms with it.” He declared, pointedly looking away from the older man’s gaze. 

And even though the question was greatly impertinent, as well as slightly dangerous, Tony did not regret giving voice to it. Because as deeply closeted as his colleague was, which was quite, there was no doubt in his mind that the Scottish man had at least come to terms with who he was as a person. 

“And you’ve come to ‘me’ for advice?” Ducky asked, voice all aquiver with barely contained anger and denial. 

But rather than do what any sane person might do and flee from the scene, Ducky’s rage as rare and terrible as tsunami, Tony stood his ground and refused to be cowed the terrifying glower being leveled at him. 

“Ducky.” Tony simply implored, meeting his thunderous gaze with a far calmer expression. “Don’t.” 

Because as wrong as Tony was for brazenly opting to ignore the team’s unspoken protocol that neither reference nor insinuation be made about Ducky’s clear homosexuality, as if simply by not mentioning it such was not so, he felt this conversation had to be had for ‘both’ their sakes. 

“What would you wish for me to tell you?” Ducky growled, at long last breaking the terse silence. 

“The truth.” Tony implored, trying his hardest not to cower beneath the older man’s gaze. 

Seeming to accurately sense that he was greatly terrifying his best friend’s pseudo-son, and perhaps feeling guilty simply because intimidation was not in his nature, Ducky seemed to deflate before his very eyes. 

“Being gay is hard, Anthony.” The Medical Examiner sighed, looking thrice as old as he truly was. “Not only do you have a clear absence of any role models similar to you, so too are you subject to gender norms and stereotypes that oftentimes just don’t apply.” Pausing for a moment to collect himself, as well as to still his rage-trembling hands, Ducky scowled deeply and continued. “You have to actively work at keeping your identity – rather than allow a bigoted world to box you into a new one to fit their preconceived notions.” 

All feeling of relief at having successfully outed himself to a person without any significant awkwardness now evaporating at such a harsh report, Tony bit harshly at his tongue to keep the tears of bitterness before raising another question. 

“Are you saying I couldn’t come out?” He demanded, voice impossibly small. 

Rather than answer his question plainly, something the skinny man had never seemed capable of doing, Ducky sighed needlessly adjusted his glasses. 

“The closet is dark and lonely, Anthony.” The man evaded. “It’s also safe.” 

“What are you saying?” Tony demanded, his mood drastically dropping. 

Opting not to answer his question at all, an unheard of occurrence, Ducky slid of his desk in one fluid movement and gestured at the door. 

“I’m done with this conversation, Anthony.” He declared, his face a mixture or rage and sadness. “While you are, indeed, welcome to my advice at any time you are, by no means, entitled to my emotional labors.” 

“Ducky – “ 

“I’m afraid you’ll need to find someone else to question, Anthony.” Ducky quickly dismissed, stalking over to the door and yanking it open. “Because I’ve had quite enough of it from you.”


	27. Chapter 27

Despite having woken up with then naïve premonition that today was going to have been a good one, such an assumption having prompted him to sleep in and give the morning command to Tony, Gibbs was swiftly disabused of such an errant notion the very moment he returned to the bullpen and was greeted by its decidedly tense and ‘hinky’ atmosphere. And at first believing such general awkwardness to be the result of some sort of mischief his unannounced arrival had promptly put an end to, no doubt yet another heated game of paper football between DiNozzo and Todd with McGee as a reluctant referee, Gibbs had scowled his warnings at those under his command before sauntering over to his desk with coffee in hand – initially in far too good a mood to bother himself with any further investigations. 

It was only when he caught the troubled expression on his SFA’s face that Gibbs began to realize that such an uncharacteristic reprieve might not have been the best course of action. 

But rather than outright begin his interrogations, and subsequently embarrass his son by launching into full-blown parental mode, Gibbs feigned continued indifference for the next minutes before casually getting to his feet once more. 

“I’m heading to the lab.” He barked at the room, causing McGee to jump several inches from his seat. “Todd, I want your desk spotless by the time I get back.”

Because despite having no real idea as to whether or not the engaged brunette in question was the culprit behind such a tense atmosphere, as well as being utterly clues as to how her usually pristine desk had ended up covered in several inches of brightly colored glitter, Gibbs felt it was perfectly reasonable to deduce she was to blame for both on the grounds that it was usually she that was at war with Tony.

And so, leaving the slightly bewildered woman behind to deal with the Herculean task of ridding her desk of such a massive mess, after forbidding a sympathetic McGee to assist when he made to move and offer his help, Gibbs muttered darkly under his breath and all but stomped to the elevator. Magnanimously opting to pretend not to have heard the latter’s mumbled demand to know ‘just who it was that had pissed in his cheerios,’ he then slammed his fist on the correct button and sighed impatiently as he hurtled downward toward the only woman he was sure could make sense of the damn soap opera drama he had wandered into. 

And so it was, with ice-cold Caff-Pow in hand, that Gibbs stalked into the lab to seek out his designated mole – shocked beyond shocked to have entered and discovered that there was neither blaring music nor grinning Abby to greet him upon his entry. Greatly concerned, as not even death itself would be able to keep the spirited girl away from her beloved music, much less his person, Gibbs frowned and hurried his pace as he poked even further into the strangely quiet lab, nervously heading into seldom-used territory he was all but certain hadn’t been used for weeks. To his great relief, as well as consternation, it was there that he found the woman – all but tucked away in some dark corner as she typed away at some long overdue reports with red eyes and a sullen frown. 

“Everything okay, Abbs?” Gibbs questioned, when after a few moments it became clear she had not heard his arrival. 

His voice having startled her fingers right off her purple keyboard, the goth-girl quickly spun around in her swivel chair and all but launched herself into his arms. Quickly returning the hug, even though he could scarcely breathe through the fierceness of such a tight embrace, Gibbs sighed and patted her back a few times before gently extracting himself. 

“You mind telling me what the hell happened while I was gone?” Gibbs gently requested, pressing the chilly beverage into her hand. 

Blinking back a sudden onslaught of tears, Abby swiped angrily at her eyes and grimaced when she realized such an action left behind a long streak of black makeup on her lab coat. 

“Oh, Gibbs.” Abby cried, fruitlessly rubbing at the stain. “I don’t know!” 

Gently extracting the distraught woman’s hand away from her sleeve before the stain could set in, Gibbs frowned gently and sighed out his answer. 

“You really don’t know?” He gently pressed. 

Because as much as Abby enjoyed the reputation of never once having lied to him, said woman also enjoyed the status of being the resident mole and gossip. So either the goth-girl was, indeed lying to him for the first time in her life, or she, absurdly, truly did not have any idea of what had transpired in his absence. Both of those concepts, of course, being as equally ridiculous and unlikely as the other. 

“I’m just not sure!” Abby quickly amended, once more wrapping her skinny arms about his neck. “All I know is that when I got here, Ducky had locked himself in his office and Jimmy wouldn’t let him talk to me!” Frowning deeply at that, as well as sniffling loudly in his ear, Abby sucked in a shuddering breath before continuing. “And when I went to ask Tony if ‘he’ knew why Ducky was mad, he snapped at me and told me it was none of my business and that I needed to get back to work!” Dissolving into fresh tears at that particularly portion of the confession, such an event having clearly bothered her most, Abby sniffled once more and left behind loud streaks of black and purple makeup on the shoulder of his jacket. “And then Kate spoke up and told him to leave me alone, which was fine, but then all of a sudden, her desk exploded in glitter, Gibbs!” Pausing a moment for breath, as well as to accept a tissue from her boss, Abby frowned petulantly and continued. “And when Tony found out that Tim was the one who did it, to get back at Kate for taking the screws out of his chair, Tony lost it and yelled at them both to get back at work and – oh! Everyone is just so crabby today, Boss!” 

“Calm down, Abbs.” Gibbs implored, patting her back. “I’ll have this fixed in no time.” 

Because as much as Gibbs had a certain fondness for letting his agents work out their squabbles for themselves, intervening only when strictly necessary, he knew such a sudden shift in dynamics needed to be addressed and corrected in an expeditious manner if he still hoped to have a functioning team by the weeks end. 

“I hope so.” Abby frowned, clumsily dabbing away the makeup staining her cheeks. 

“I will.” Gibbs promised, passing her another tissue. 

Staying a few moments longer, just enough time to ensure that Abby had once more gotten her emotions under control, Gibbs gave the goth-girl yet another pat on the back before taking his leave – his primary focus now on finding Ducky and, hopefully as result, an answer to the riddle behind all this juvenile nonsense affecting his agents. 

Walking at such a brisk pace as he did, both from habit as well as the eagerness to put all this drama behind him, Gibbs arrived at the morgue in almost record time – slightly short of breath as well as wary when he approached Ducky’s office and found it to be guarded by an uncharacteristically stern Autopsy Gremlin. 

“Ducky has a headache.” Palmer frowned, pressing himself against the door when Gibbs made to push through him. “He’s asked not to be bothered.” 

Blinking in surprise, as that was by far the longest and most stammer-free speech Palmer had ever managed to deliver in his presence, Gibbs stood stupidly for a few moments before recovering himself. 

“Move.” He barked, narrowing his eyes into slits. 

But much to Gibbs’s great shock, as well as immense rage, Palmer stood his ground and refused to take off fleeing at the sight of his enraged superior. Far too angry to be impressed, as he otherwise might have been were the situation already not so tense, Gibbs practically growled at the insubordinates and made to physically move him. But before he could so much as get a hand on him, much less yank the young man away from the door, said object creaked loudly and opened on its own accord. 

“There is no need to put your hand on the boy, Jethro.” Ducky frowned, looking very much prepared to rip his throat of if he persisted in any manner. 

Figuring it not worth his efforts, no matter how small, to do as he had planned and physically throw the autopsy assistant to the side, Gibbs grumbled again his request that Palmer move as said man was still impeding his entrance into the office. But rather than do as bidden for a third time, the diabetic man mutely shook his head and set his face into a stern, if not slightly fearful, expression. 

“Be a good lad, Jimmy, and go tend to our newest visitor.” Ducky gently ordered, wisely sensing that his colleague’s patience was about to come to an end. 

When Palmer only hesitated, sparing his mentor a very concerned look, the Medical Examiner smiled softly and pushed at his shoulders. 

“Go on, now.” He encouraged. “Do as your told.” 

Looking immensely terrified at the prospect of even entertaining the idea of disobeying his father-figure’s quiet request, Jimmy nodded quickly and took to his heels, Gibbs’s great wrath at his person all but inconsequential to him as he rushed off to do as his mentor had bid him. 

“You’ll have to forgive Jimmy for that particular bit of obstinacy.” Ducky ordered, the suggestion not anywhere near a request. “I fear he misunderstood my instructions.” 

Resisting the urge to remind the bespectacled man that the chain-of-command within the NCIS stipulated that any command Gibbs made superseded that of anyone else’s, save for the Director himself, he swallowed his pride and managed, just barely, to request an audience with his long-time friend. 

“Certainly.” Ducky obliged, throwing wide the door to his office. 

Already knowing that he was entering into dangerous waters, as his colleague’s usual calm demeanor had been replaced with one far more tense and unpleasant, Gibbs entered the dusty room but refused to take the usual seat in the half-broken swivel chair – unwilling to give the other man the advantage of an unequal height disparity. He opted, instead, to stand – the small yet meaningful gesture giving him some semblance of control when faced with a conversation he really did not wish to have. 

Looking as uninterested in his friend’s peculiar choice of standing as he did whenever faced with the ramblings of football scores from DiNozzo, Ducky simply closed the door to his office and settled for standing a few feet away from him – no doubt just as on edge as was he. 

“Let us have this done with.” Ducky gently demanded, raising at him an expectant brow when several minutes had passed without either of them speaking. 

Opting for a bit of a neutral approach at first, as he knew full-well that DiNozzo could have very well earned himself such a rebuke from the man in question, Gibbs sighed and all but forced his question out in nicer tones than he wished to use. 

“What happened this morning?” 

Although he knew perfectly well that it was an insipid question he was asking, Abby’s long dialogue having assured him of the fact that there had been some sort of spat between his child and friend, the fact still remained he knew absolutely nothing of the details and nature of the feud. 

“Your lad was being impertinent.” Ducky accused, eyed darkening angrily even as he spoke. 

“Are you certain?” Gibbs countered, bristling openly at the accusation. 

Because while DiNozzo was certainly comprised of a lot of unsavory characteristics, the primary ones of those being his irreverence and tendency toward unprofessionalism, impertinence and insolence was not at all a trait he could slander his boy with. 

“Yes, Jethro.” 

Resolving to further inquire into the matter by asking Tony his side of the story, as he was still stubbornly unwilling to accept that DiNozzo of all people had been impertinent, Gibbs swallowed down his fierce need to defend his kids honor and forced himself to move the conversation along. 

“And?” Gibbs demanded, struggling to keep his tone even. 

Unwilling to be cowed by the man who was technically his superior, Ducky shrugged his shoulders pointedly and unflinchingly met his gaze. 

“And so I sent him away.” 

Bristling at the blasé confession that was very nearly a lie, as Gibbs couldn’t outright call out his friend for deceitfulness without jeopardizing their relationship, he sucked in an angry breath and tried for a different tactic. 

“I think you hurt his feelings.” 

Despite momentarily looking greatly concerned at such unwelcome news, the expression in his eyes betraying him of such a fact, the Medical Examiner stubbornly clung to his anger and refused to be cowed into repentance. 

“He offended mine as well by behaving abhorrently.” 

Seeing as he would get nowhere by trying to protest that Tony was innocent and not at all deserving of such harsh critique, Gibbs scowled deeply and dug his fingernails into his palm to still his anger. 

“What on Earth could Abby have done to make you snap at ‘her,’ of all people, then?” Gibbs growled, blood boiling as he began to think of the tears in her eyes. 

Blinking initially in confusion at the question, Ducky frowned and leaned against the wall. 

“I was not aware that I had offended Abigail.” Ducky sighed. “Rest assured she will be receiving an apology.” 

“And what about Tony?” Gibbs demanded, growing all the more enraged the longer his friend persisted in ignoring the topic. 

Casting Gibbs a look that very easily conveyed he was by no means pleased to keep being forced back into such a line of conversation, Ducky shook his head and needlessly began to clean his glasses with the hem of his shirt. 

“Your boy shall receive no apology from me, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ducky calmly declared. “He was asking impertinent questions and I was fully within my rights to send him away.” 

Pausing for a moment to count to ten, as he was very rapidly beginning to see only red, Gibbs bit down hard on his tongue as he put two-and-two together and realized just what had occurred in his absence. 

“He came to you for advice.” Gibbs stated. “About something you both struggle with.” 

“Yes.” Ducky answered, confirming for him his theory. 

This time needing to count to twenty, as the Medical Examiner’s nonchalance irritated him to no end, Gibbs dug his fingernails further into his palms before answering. 

“And you just sent him away!?” 

Startling a bit as the loudness of Gibbs’s voice filled the room and set the sole window to rattling, Ducky glared openly and returned his glasses to his face. 

“I did.” 

Unable to understand why one who was so usually filled with empathy and sympathy could do such a thing, especially when he topic at hand had to be close to home, Gibbs found himself at a loss as he asked his next question. 

“Why?” 

“Because, Jethro,” Ducky began, anger starting to turn his ears red, “Anthony is not entitled to my emotional labors.” 

Not really understanding what such a phrase met, but feeling as if he got the gist of it, Gibbs glowered openly at his friend and spat out his retort. 

“He came to you because he trusted you, Ducky.” He hissed. “How could you just send him away like that?!” 

It was with no trace of contriteness, nor regret, that the Scottish man turned to him with cold eyes and gave and answer. 

“Oh no.” Ducky chuckled, the action eliciting no real warmth. “You get to lecture ‘me’ about ‘my’ feelings – not when you cannot even briefly entertain the notion that the reason your marriages have all failed is because you’ve been trying to replace Shannon with any redhead even remotely pretty enough to tempt you.” 

Feeling as if Ducky had quite literally sucker-punched him, as all his breath had left his body when he’d gasped, Gibbs glowered to keep the hurt from showing and shook his head in disbelief. 

“That was a low-blow, Ducky.” 

Quickly concealing away the guilt he was clearly feeling, the Scottish man shrugged his shoulders once more and sighed out his retort. 

“And so is sending your son to badger me about thing I choose not to talk about!” He frowned. “Something, I would think, you would be more than knowledgeable about.” 

Barely resisting the urge to punch the man, as that was the second time in as many minutes he had brought up his dead family, Gibbs took several more deep breaths before responding. 

“I didn’t send him! He came on his own volition!” He barked. “Because he trusted you!” Still seeing red, he took yet another deep breath. “And I would have thought you’d be happy to advise him!” 

Not even missing a beat, Ducky replied. 

“Would you be happy if I sent someone to you to badger you about dealing with grief?” 

Knowing it was more than just a little necessary for him to leave before he actually assault the man, Gibbs spun on his heels and yanked the door open. 

“Fuck you.” 

Showing no sign in his voice that the curse had even affected him, Ducky calmly called after him and requested he close the door on his way out. And Gibbs, always one to comply, did just that – all but breaking the ancient thing off its hinges as he put all his force into the action.


	28. Chapter 28

Seeing as Gibbs had been gone for about an hour after announcing he was going to visit with Abby, Tony found himself subconsciously launching into the role of leading officer, inwardly welcoming such an important task it all but effortlessly served to distract him from the anxiety and feelings of regret currently assaulting his stomach and heart. Because as much as Abby was always insisting he allow himself to feel his emotions, Tony just hadn’t gotten to quite that point as of yet. 

“I’m never going to get this glitter off me.” McGee groused, currently attacking Kate’s desk with an antique feather-duster he had scrounged up from a broom closet. 

“Try screwing in screws with only one good eye.” Kate retorted, currently struggling to reassemble the chair she had earlier sabotaged. 

Having decided, in the clear absence of Gibbs’s authority, to make the both of them set to rights that which they had afflicted on the other, in the hopes that Kate would learn not to initiate wars which were not easily won and Tim would learn a thing a two about appropriate reciprocity, Tony glowered at the both of them to shut them before turning back to reviewing several reports that still needed either his or Gibbs’s signatures. 

He was very nearly finished with the last of them when Gibbs stormed in, his face a mask of sheer fury as he all but stomped into the bullpen with an enraged Director on his heels. Wisely sensing that any smart quips about a lovers quarrel would not go over well at all, by either of the enraged parties, Tony kept silent and tried to focus all his attentions unto the current report he was reviewing – a task that became all but impossible when the clearly bickering duo began to yell and shout at one another. 

“I don’t know what the hell is going on here, Gibbs, but you need to fix it!” Vance growled, throwing up his hands in consternation. “I mean for God’s sake, Ducky of all people just told me to get the hell out of his morgue!” 

Not at all enjoying the concept of being told what to do, even if it was by someone who was technically a superior, Gibbs threw his own hands up into the air and barked back his reply. 

“And now I’m telling you to get the hell out of my bullpen!” 

As the room turned deadly quiet at such a response, and both Kate and Tim ducked behind their respective desks for cover, Tony felt his face pale and cursed himself for ever having gotten the entire team involved in such a mess. Because, at the end of the day, if he had just kept his inner-conflict to himself, neither of his fellow agents would be currently exposed to such an uncomfortable feud whose origins they knew nothing about. 

“Is something wrong with DiNozzo!?” Vance demanded, quickly casting Tony a suspicious look before turning back to face his adversary. “Because that’s the only reason you get like this!” 

“THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH TONY!”

Blinking in abject surprise that anyone would explode upon him in so uncivilized a manner, even Gibbs, Vance gaped stupidly and remained silent for several seconds before responding – his face a thinly veiled expression of sheer outrage. 

“Walk with me, Gibbs.” The African-American demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

Resentfully, yet wisely, seeing that there was no real way in which he could get away with outright defying such a harmless and inoffensive order, Gibbs kept his peace and angrily nodded his consent before wordlessly following the Director out of the room. 

Feeling quite chilled by the entire ordeal, as well as decidedly guilty as he had been the person indirectly responsible for such a fracas, Tony nibbled at his bottom lip before deciding to take compassion on the two cowering agents who were below him on the chain of command. 

“McGee, Todd.” Tony barked, once he was perfectly certain both Director and Gibbs were outside of hearing shot. “Pack up and go home.” 

Blanching at the very idea, as if Gibbs would return at any moment and slap him upside the head for even considering such a luxury, Tim exchanged worried expressions with Kate before giving voice to his concerns. 

“But it’s only 1500.” The affianced man reminded. “We never leave before 1700.” 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at such stubborn obstinacy, as who the hell argued when their superior offered them the chance for early leave, Tony sighed and looked pointedly at his watch. 

“Thanks for the update, McGee.” He stated dryly. “Now leave. The both of you.” 

“Are you sure?” Kate pestered, looking longingly toward the elevator. 

“We’d hate to leave you alone with an angry Boss.” Tim added, as perfectly selfless as always. 

A bit touched at such genuine kindness and concern, as it was not often his underlings had any opportunity to prove their loyalty and respect, Tony smiled his appreciation but nonetheless shooed them away – his own selfless nature not allowing him to give into the temptation of asking them to stay and wait out the storm with him. 

“I have Abby.” He dismissed, making shooing motions with his hand. “Now go – before I decide to make you both clean off Kate’s desk with your fingers.” 

Neither one them liking such a prospect, especially Tim who was already very generously coated in the obnoxious glitter, the two agents quickly set about retrieving their jackets and phones before beelining it toward the elevator. 

“We’ll pray for you.” Kate solemnly intoned, tugging along a reluctant Tim into the elevator. 

Sending them off with a small smile, and hoping all the awhile those prayers would indeed by delivered to a Higher Power, Tony stretched lazily before getting to his feet and stalked out the bullpen in search of the friendly custodian who worked the morning shift. Finding said elderly man in his usual haunt, that being the unrenovated bathroom near the drippy water fountain, he then commandeered from him a small handheld vacuum and quickly set to work of ridding Kate’s desk of the crafting-disaster. At such work for a good half-hour, having had to stop thrice to empty the canister, Tony had just tucked away the incriminating evidence beneath his desk when Gibbs returned – his face no longer quite so angry but not quite happy either. 

“Boss – “ Tony began, strangely suspicious of the distinct lack of anger. 

As it soon turned out, he was perfectly correct in his feelings of suspicion, for moments later Gibbs descended on him, his face a queer mask of expressions Tony had never before seen. But rather than literally slap his head right of his shoulders as he had so very often threatened to do in the past, and which Tony greatly feared his doing at the moment, Gibbs surprised the breath right out of him by wrapping him in a tight hug. Utterly stunned at such an out-character display of affection, especially in public, as well as greatly relieved he had come to do significant physical harm, it took Tony several moments to come out of his dazed stupor and return the hug. 

“Let’s go home, Kid.” Gibbs finally spoke, finally ending the impromptu embrace. 

But as much as Tony wished he could accept such an enticing offer, his desire for a good meal and a long nap almost unignorable, he knew he couldn’t give into the selfish temptation and get Gibbs in trouble as well. 

“But – “ 

“Director’s orders.” Gibbs cut him off, his smile more a smirk. “It seems he feels I’m a bit ‘testy’ today.” 

“Imagine that.” Tony quipped, easily dodging the lazy headslap sent his way. 

It was only then that they collected their things made their way toward Gibbs’s truck, their shared living arrangement having all but eliminated the need for their taking of separate vehicles. 

“You’re not fired, are you?” Tony pestered, climbing into the passenger seat. 

“No.” Gibbs sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Just in the doghouse for a while.” 

Deeply touched at the thought that anyone would go to bat for him so significate a manner, Tony blinked a few times before replying. 

“You didn’t need to do that just for me, Boss.” He insisted. “But thanks.” 

Not even sparing him a glance as he backed out of his parking space, Gibbs rolled his eyes and pulled the truck into drive. 

“I did.” He argued, angrily glaring at a young agent as they tried to back out in front of him. 

Smirking as the agent in question wisely backed down, his eyes as wide as saucers, Tony leaned back into the cushioned seats and closed his eyes – more than content enough to enjoy the scent of sawdust and aftershave that hung in the air as Gibbs steadily piloted them home and toward safety.


	29. Chapter 29

Although Gibbs was almost certain his child had drifted off into an impromptu nap only minutes into their journey, he was also fairly certain said young man hadn’t had a chance to sit down and eat a proper meal in weeks what with the way had been constantly leaving early for work and staying out late with his ‘friends.’ And so, with that in mind, he gently tapped his SFA’s shoulder and brought to life the suggestion he had rattling about in his mind. 

“You hungry?” 

Before Tony could so much as register the question, much less give an answer to it, his stomach growled loudly and gave credence to Gibbs’s assumption. And, either knowing he was caught or too exhausted to put a fight just for the sake of fighting, Tony gave into reasonability and nodded with a sheepish smile. 

“Let’s say we go and get a late lunch.” Gibbs suggested. “It’s been awhile since we did that.” 

In all honestly, Gibbs couldn’t even accurately guess as to when such an event had last occurred. Although, if he had to hazard a guess, he would have to say it had been more than half a year or so since they had last shared a meal just between the two of them – the general craziness of the last several months and Tony’s sudden tendency toward reclusivity having all but ensured of that. 

“That sounds good, Boss.” 

Relieved to find that he would not be forced into strong-arming his agent into submission, much less resort to begging, Gibbs sighed in relief. 

“Where to?” 

“Dairy Queen.” Tony answered immediately, no trace of hesitation in his decision. 

Despite the great pain it brought him, Gibbs couldn’t help but smile fondly as he once more reflected upon the similarities between Tony and Kelly. Because much in the same vein that his daughter had always suggested McDonald’s, simply for the Happy Meal and its accompanying toy, so too would his boy always request Dairy Queen just for the promise of an Oreo Blizzard. 

“I don’t know why I even bothered to ask.” Gibbs muttered, already in route to said establishment. 

Ignoring the grumbles from his passenger, the complaints mostly comprised of spurious claims that he wasn’t at all ‘that’ predictable, Gibbs flicked on the radio to the classical station and piloted his truck along at a calmer pace than usual – perfectly content to just enjoy this rare and peaceful time alone with his boy. His counterpart, meanwhile, rapidly became all the more excited the closer they came to arriving at their destination, all but vibrating with sheer excitement so raw and powerful that Gibbs was all but certain the brunette would rock the wheels right off his truck and send them flying into the ditch. 

Thankfully for the both of them, it didn’t quite come to that as Gibbs turned and brought the famous establishment into view, all but stilling the young man’s motions as he became frozen into place with excited anticipation. 

“We’re here!” Tony needlessly announced, sitting ramrod straight. 

Starling a bit at the sudden loudness, and rubbing at the ear his kid had all but hollered in, Gibbs sighed his slight annoyance and gracefully pulled into the parking lot. 

“Yes.” He agreed, ear still ringing. “I can see that.” 

But rather than take a considerate moment to look bashful after receiving such a thinly veiled scolding, Tony launched himself out of the truck in seconds, all but leaving Gibbs in the metaphorical dust as he rushed to beat a large crowd of high-schoolers insider. And, seeing no choice but to follow suit, or else risk being left behind in line, Gibbs sighed and took off after him as quickly as he could. 

“I don’t know why you were in such a rush.” He scolded. “I’m still going to make you eat real food before you have your blizzard.” 

Looking very much like Gibbs had just suggested he would first need to cut off his arm in order to be allowed to eat, Tony frowned petulantly and tried using puppy-dog eyes on him. 

“C’mon, Boss.” Tony argued. “I’m – “ 

“I know how old you are.” Gibbs cut him off. “I also know you don’t act your age.” 

Ignoring the amused twittering from the acne-ridden counter-girl in a way Gibbs would never be able to, Tony vainly persisted in his argument in the ridiculous hopes he could outreason his stern employer. 

“Are you really going to make me wait to have dessert?” 

“When you’ve eaten like crap for the last few weeks – yes.” Gibbs assured. 

Deflating as he quickly realized that there was no real way in which he could further the argument without lying to his boss about the nature of his eating habits, as well as realizing the longer he debated the longer it would take to get his blizzard, Tony scowled and put in his order before finally stepping aside to allow Gibbs to do the same. 

“I hope you don’t plan on pouting the rest of the evening.” Gibbs cautioned, sliding into the opposite side of the booth Tony had selected. 

“Don’t worry,” Tony quipped, slipping a fry into his mouth, “I’ll save some of the sulking for tomorrow.” 

Waiting for his scalding-hot food to cool off before touching it, unlike the animalistic Tony, Gibbs shook his head in a bereaved fashion and rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a smart ass.” He reprimanded. “A Goddam smart ass.” 

Opting to ignore such heatless censure in favor of biting into his burger, Tony smiled victoriously at the lack of a headslap and all but moaned as his painfully empty stomach began to fill with greasy food. Which left a slightly uncomfortable Gibbs to tuck away at his own meal in relative silence, as he hardly wished to interrupt such an important fulfillment of bodily need. 

“Good Lord, Kid.” Gibbs exclaimed, alarmed at the rate in which his ravenous partner had eaten. “Did you even taste any of that?” 

Childishly licking away the grease from his fingers, Tony smiled mischievously and swiped a fry from his tray. 

“You said I had to eat real food,” He argued, “You didn’t say I had to enjoy it.” 

And, thus declared, Tony stuck his spoon into his freshly-delivered Blizzard. 

“I spoil you.” Gibbs sighed, accepting his cotton-candy blizzard from the waitress.

Deciding not to waste any time in refuting such an inarguable fact, Tony stuck a large bite of ice cream into his mouth and closed his eyes as he savored the treat. And, opting not to spoil the moment with anymore critiques, Gibbs followed suit and hacked away at his own dessert – neither one of them saying a word until several minutes had past and the ice-cream was nearly gone. 

“Tony,” Gibbs began, reluctantly deciding to break the companionable silence, “You know…Ducky didn’t mean whatever he said to you.” 

Because as much as he was still clueless as to the exact nature of just what had been said during their little quarrel, Gibbs was man enough to admit that the Medical Examiner really didn’t have a cruel bone in his entire body. That said Scottish man should have lashed out in such a vicious manner and spoken so cruelly, to him as well as Tony, was only of the result of several weeks’ worth of frustration and unexpressed resentment. And while that in no way excused such callous behavior, as Ducky was very often fond of telling ‘him,’ Gibbs found it important that he at least explain such a concept to the emotionally-stunted young man dining with him. 

“He did, Gibbs.” Tony argued, immediately making it clear he would not make the following conversation easy. “I could tell.” 

Swallowing down the urge to demand to know if he was calling him a liar, as Gibbs knew a certain finesse was called for when dealing with a matter so serious, he fiddled with his spoon for a bit before deciding on his next course of action. 

“He didn’t, Tony.” Gibbs gently refuted. “He…He just went through a lot with a mother like his.”

And while that was putting it lightly, as said woman had been the very definition of domineering and stifling, Gibbs took great effort to make it known that while such an experience was an explanation for such behavior, it was by no means an excuse. 

“He shouldn’t have yelled at you, though.” Gibbs amended, rather insufficiently and lamely. “It’s just…well…he’s been holding in his secret a lot longer than you have.” 

Because as much as Gibbs was still enraged with said man for brining up his deceased family in such a cruel fashion, he wasn’t at all one to descent into pettiness when it came to discussing someone he was currently not speaking to. 

“I’m not bothered that he kicked me out of his office.” Tony sighed, refuting Gibbs’s assumption that the Medical Examiner had done any yelling. “It’s just…I’m worried about what he said, is all.” 

Still mostly in the dark as to what exactly had been said in Ducky’s office, Gibbs frowned and shoved his suddenly unappetizing Blizzard away. 

“What ‘did’ he say, Tony?” 

Pushing aside his own Blizzard, an alarming action in Gibbs’s eyes, Tony frowned and fiddled with a hangnail. 

“He…He just made it seem like being the closet was a better option.” 

Bristling slightly at the idea that Ducky of all people had given such horrendous advice, knowing just how damaging it could be, Gibbs dug his fingernails into his palm and fought valiantly not to succumb to his usual anger. 

“Tony,” Gibbs sighed, “Does that really seem like the better option when you look at Ducky?” 

Looking as if the conversation had taken a decidedly painful turn, Tony sighed and wearily closed his eyes. 

“No.” He answered, after a long moment had passed. “It doesn’t.” 

Taking that slight victory and running with it, Gibbs frowned nervously but launched into yet another difficult topic that, while related to the conversation at hand, was not strictly so. 

“You said you would talk to someone.” 

Turning a sullen look on Gibbs, Tony frowned and looked pointedly at the door. 

“You did, too.” He accused. 

Having fully expected such an argument to pop up, Gibbs smiled smugly and leaned back against the booth cushions. 

“I have been.” 

Looking as if Gibbs had just announced he was going to quit the NCIS and join the FBI, Tony gave him a wide-eyed look and poorly-quirked an eyebrow. 

“Really?” 

“When have I ever not made good on a promise?” Gibbs returned. 

Pausing a moment to consider the question, and quickly coming up blank, Tony sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. 

“I’ll set one up.” The younger man sighed, looking thoroughly exhausted. 

“You’ve already got one set up for Friday, Kiddo.” 

Face now erupting into a full-fledged pout, Tony glowered petulantly and earned a smirk from Gibbs. 

“A fathers got to do what a fathers got to do.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We'll get to the Charles/Tony chapters very soon, I promise!   
> I just needed to get some Daddy Ducky in here!

“Dr. Mallard?” 

Having firmly ensconced himself within the cozy confines of his favorite leather recliner to enjoy a bit of silent reflection, chamomile tea in one hand a freshly-made biscuit in the other, Ducky startled a bit at the familiar, yet unexpected, voice calling out to him from the general darkness of the kitchen. 

“Now, now, Jimmy.” Ducky scolded, a fond smile turning up his lips. “There’s simply no need for such formality.” 

Because as much as Ducky knew that the words would fall on stubbornly deaf ears, his parental instincts did not permit him to remain silent on such a matter – for he knew full-well that said young man only defaulted to formality on those rare occasions he imagined himself to be in trouble with his beloved father-figure. 

“You’re not mad at me?” Jimmy pestered, making no real efforts to move away from the shadowy doorframe. 

Closing his eyes as his stomach clenched painfully at the sad and childish question, Ducky set aside his chamomile tea on a mahogany end-table and wordlessly beckoned his assistant into the room. 

“Why ever should I be cross with you, my lad?” Ducky queried, taking great care to keep his voice even. 

Still lingering in his shadowy little alcove, Jimmy brought a hand up to his glasses and nervously began to fidget with them. 

“Because I couldn’t keep Gibbs out of your office.” The younger man confessed, his blush visible even in the darkness. 

Resolving once more to later speak with the lad about his unnecessary tendency for fighting battles that were not his own, even though such an effort was certainly flattering and heart-warming where concerned his own person, Ducky sat up a little straighter in his recliner and softened the expression on his face by several more degrees. 

“I was the one to invite him into my office, Jimmy.” He calmly reminded, holding out his arms for a hug. 

All but rushing into the embrace he so sorely needed, Jimmy eagerly wrapped his arms about Ducky’s neck and shamelessly proceeded to bury his face in his shoulder. Indulging the touch-starved individual in such a manner, and without any sort of resentment or reluctance, Ducky hummed softly and rubbed at his assistant’s back as he patiently waited for the moment to pass. 

But rather than break away from the embrace after the usual duration of such an embrace, the likes of which lasted anywhere from seconds to several minutes, Jimmy surprised Ducky for the first time in their relationship by crawling awkwardly unto his lap. Starling a bit at such a sudden shift in dynamics, as even that was far too childish for the perpetually innocent and stunted Jimmy, Ducky quickly recovered himself and resumed his hugging – understanding all too well that the only important thing at that moment was for him to make certain that Jimmy felt loved and hadn’t failed him in any way. 

“What’s all this now?” Ducky crooned, smoothing his lad’s hair. “Were you truly afraid that I was cross with you?” 

Far too overwhelmed at the moment to initially give a verbal answer, Jimmy nodded against his neck before mumbling out a more specific reply. 

“This hug is for ‘you’ though.” 

Resisting the urge not to chortle at the silly notion he needed a hug, as his sensitive lad would only take it the wrong way, Ducky smiled fondly before inquiring any further into the matter. 

“Why would you think I need a hug, hm?” 

Face still tucked away in the safety of his shoulder, Jimmy’s response was almost inaudible as he spoke against the collar of his shirt. 

“Because you don’t like fighting anymore than I do.” 

“Ah,” Ducky smiled, still running his fingers through employee’s hair. “I do believe such a thing troubles you far more than it does me.” 

Not bothering to argue against such unobjectionable facts, nodded and began to fiddle with a few of the buttons on Ducky’s shirt, the action strangely endearing if not slightly annoying whenever the lad yanked too hard and pulled at his skin. 

“Is Gibbs going to fire you?” The worried brunette fussed, still fiddling away at the buttons. 

This time actually chuckling openly at the question, to show just how absurd such an idea was, Ducky gave his lad a tight squeeze and gently removed his fingers from his shirt. 

“Worry not, dear lad.” Ducky soothed. “Jethro does not have that authority.” 

Relaxing in his embrace at such good news, Jimmy sighed contentedly against his chest for a moment before launching into what was, quite evidently, his primary concern of the evening. 

“Gibbs is mad at you.” He stated, blanching slightly at the though. 

A lad first abused by a violent alcoholic of a ‘father,’ and then subsequently further terrorized by two religious-zealots masquerading as foster-parents, it had all but been a given that Jimmy had rapidly learned to associate all sources of conflict with violence, both verbal and physical, against his person. 

“Yes, I suppose he is.” Ducky agreed, not wishing to lie to his lad. “But, to tell you the truth, I think I rather earned his ire.” 

Looking thoroughly scandalized at the very idea his beloved mentor could ever be deserving of such censure, Jimmy frowned and quite adequately made his doubt known with nary a word being expressed. 

“I am not infallible, you know.” Ducky chided, resting his head atop his lad’s. 

Still looking as if he very much doubted the veracity of such a statement, but seeming far too exhausted to argue his side, Jimmy yawned and gave into the temptation to rest his eyes. Content enough to simply allow such contact, as it easily helped to settle his more parental urges, Ducky rubbed at his lad’s back and smiled softly as the flames from the fireplace warmed their feet and legs. 

Unfortunately, like all good things, that peaceful silence soon came to an end. 

“Why’re you mad at Tony?” 

Cringing at the blunt question, as he had long ago come to the realization that Tony hadn’t exactly been deserving of such vitriol, even if he ‘had’ deserved some sort of censure for his impertinence, Ducky frowned and inadvertently squeezed his lad a bit too tight in response – eliciting from sad man a soft gasp of surprise. 

“I’m afraid Anthony was asking me about things I would have rather not discussed.” Ducky admitted, offering his apology for the tight squeeze via a pat to the head. 

All too aware that such an argument was very weak and all too childish in nature, Ducky blushed a bit and was immensely grateful to find his lad’s face still tucked away into his neck. 

“About being gay?” Jimmy queried, the last word delivered via nervous whisper. 

Stiffening at such candor, but quickly relaxing when he realized such a move put his lad on edge, Ducky frowned and once more resumed carding his finger’s through the young man’s hair. 

“Yes, Jimmy.” Ducky agreed. 

But rather than find himself pleased at having accurately guessed his employer’s dilemma, the lad currently seated on his lap frowned and resumed his nervous tick of fiddling with the buttons on Ducky’s shirt. 

“I can tell you have a question, Lad.” Ducky smiled, graciously allowing his buttons to go on being molested. “So, out with it.” 

“Can I ask you a question?” Jimmy requested, both eyes and fingers focused on his collar button. 

Fighting down the urge to gently push away the invading fingers, as they were closer to his neck than he cared for them to be, Ducky smiled fondly before answering. 

“I do believe we already discussed that.” 

Giving his father-figure a petulant scowl, one that clearly conveyed he was not amused with such playful sarcasm, Jimmy huffed and yanked at his button a little roughly. 

“Without you getting mad?” He stipulated, frowning as his fingers were swiftly removed from his father’s jacket. 

“I do believe you’re the only person in this world who enjoys that privilege.” 

Taking a long moment to muster up his courage, during which time they both simply settled for staring into the fireplace, Jimmy fidgeted about restlessly in his lap before sucking in a deep breath to answer.

“Why…why are you so weird about being gay?” 

“Whatever do you mean, Jimmy?” Ducky queried, frowning at the question. 

Slowly gathering more courage the clearer it became he wasn’t going to be shouted at or slapped for impertinence, Jimmy fisted up a handful of Ducky’s shirt in his hand and muttered his answer. 

“You’re always telling me I’m not allowed to hate myself for what my Dad did to me, but then you go about hating yourself for being gay.” 

Although the reasoning was more than just a little sound, Ducky found himself stubbornly clinging to the idea that such a problem wasn’t quite so simple. 

“That’s a bit different, Lad.” 

Patiently reasserting himself, something that would have ordinarily made him extremely happy, Jimmy gave him a pointed look before speaking. 

“How?” He demanded, voice soft yet firm. “Neither one of us got any say in it.” 

Closing his eyes as realization gradually set in, Ducky sighed and squeezed his lad. 

“Oh, Jimmy.” He sighed. 

Looking more than just a little nervous, Jimmy looked up at him with no small amount of nervousness showing in his eyes. 

“What, Ducky?” 

Quickly putting his child at ease with a kiss to his brow, and earning an angry blush in response, Ducky smiled and chuckled out his answer. 

“How ever did you get so clever?” 

All but beaming at the praise, his ire at the earlier mother-henning gone, Jimmy grinned and hugged his tightly. 

“I had a good role model.” 

Touched beyond words at such an accolade, Ducky blinked several times before gradually regaining enough composure to smile at his boy.

“Are you scared to come out, Ducky?” Jimmy interrogated, emboldened by the smile. 

“No, Jimmy.” He truthfully assured. “I made a promise to Mother, is all.” 

Stifling a yawn, rather poorly at that, Jimmy rubbed at his eyes and frowned. 

“You said we shouldn’t keep promises like that.” 

Knowing himself to be properly trapped, Ducky sighed and rubbed at his temples. 

“So I did, Jimmy. So I did.” 

Graciously allowing his mentor a few moments to collect himself, Jimmy rested his eyes once more and lapsed into a suspicious silence before speaking once more. 

“I’ll still love you if you come out, Ducky.” Jimmy promised, eyes still closed. “No matter what.” 

“Oh, Jimmy.” He sighed. “I don’t deserve you.” 

“Do too.” His lad argued, more than just half-asleep. 

Allowing his child the victory of such a mindless argument, Ducky simply shushed him and continued to rub at his back, never once ceasing the movement until he was absolutely certain his pseudo-son had fallen completely asleep – all but basking openly in such a peaceful moment as he knew tomorrow certain awkward apologies were in order.


	31. Chapter 31

Although such an action reeked of the womanly meddling Shannon had always been so particularly fond of, Gibbs found he could not stop himself from doing what he had spent the whole night plotting to do – that being, of course, the slightly underhanded arrangement of a date neither party was at all aware of. And while such a massive undertaking would have, at one time, frightened the wits out his painfully socially-awkward self, Gibbs felt he was at least now adept enough to try and carry on with his first foray into the fickle battlefield of matchmaking. 

Which was precisely why he currently found himself seated in Charlotte’s Diner, well before the sun had even risen in the sky much less his son from his bed. 

“I haven’t seen you this on edge since last Superbowl Sunday.” Lanora bluntly observed, glancing in concern upon his still-full cup of coffee. “Do you need sedatives?” The caustic teenager pestered, pouring in just a little coffee to warm his now-cold beverage. “Because I’m almost positive Dolorous has some in her purse.” 

Having long since learned to make the difficult distinction between the young woman’s sarcasm and her unaffected honesty, Gibbs blinked in abject surprise at the casual confession of drug use amongst the older girls and glowered harshly at the blonde messenger of such unwelcome news. 

“You had better me that you’re joking.” He warned, finally allowing himself a sip of coffee as his nerves faded away into annoyance. 

“Don’t make me into a liar, Gibbs.” Lanora retorted, clearly not liking his tone but far too respectful of his person to say anything more. 

Before Gibbs could even insist that he was doing no such thing, much less scold her for such an irreverent tone, the braces-wearing waitress had stalked off in pursuit of an obese woman trying, and failing, to dine-and-dash – promptly leaving Gibbs alone to contemplate the unpleasant consequences of ratting the errant Dolorous out to her fiery great-grandmother, an act he was all but sure would result in said high-schooler not being able to sit for the next six weeks. But before he could even come up with a decision, much less make good on it, the opportunity was stolen away from him by the slightly-early arrival of Charles Thorpe – said man, for all intense and purposes, looking an ungodly amount of awake and alert at so early an hour. 

“Thanks for meeting me so early.” Gibbs grunted, sipping at his coffee as Charles scooted into the opposite side of the booth. 

“It’s fall break at the college.” Charles shrugged. “And I was promised a cinnamon roll.” 

Slightly perturbed to find that the veteran was nowhere near as grumpy in the morning as was Tony or himself, a characteristic Gibbs found more than just a little unnatural, he frowned in open disapproval of such energy before passing the redhead the cinnamon roll promised to him. 

“So you were.” Gibbs agreed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

All but oblivious to his exhausted breakfast-mate’s envy, or perhaps just purposely ignoring such, Charles grabbed up a fork and eagerly tore off a large piece of the roll before shoving it ungracefully into his mouth. Reasonably concerned that the engineer would choke at any moment on such a large bite, as his death would greatly complicate his match-making plans, Gibbs sat up a bit straighter and prepared to give his guest the Heimlich. 

To his great relief, all that caution proved to be for naught when Charles inexplicably managed to both chew and swallow such a massive portion of the roll. 

“Do you think Charlotte would ever part with her recipe for these?” The redhead queried hopefully, using a purple handkerchief to swipe away small bits of frosting from his finger. 

“Not willingly.” Gibbs disappointed, stealing a reasonable-sized bite from his muffin. 

In fact, it had not yet been a full three years since said woman had literally stabbed a man with a fork for the crime of trying to peek into her kitchen as she baked her famous apple cobbler - a more than violent occasion that had necessitated several bribes on behalf of the lawyers who frequented the shop, as well as several threats from Gibbs and Lanora, to avoid litigation and the shutting down of such an establishment. 

“That’s rather unfortunate.” Charles sighed, cutting away at his roll to free its middle for consumption. “I’d pay a great deal for that knowledge.” 

“You’d be paying in blood.” Gibbs assured. 

Seeming to believe that he was being told no more than an urban legend about some malevolent witch in charge of a diner, Charles smiled in amusement and swallowed down the center of his oversized roll in three large bites. 

“Why did you really call me here?” 

Mistakenly having believed that the redhead would be awhile at his labor of chewing, Gibbs blinked at the blunt question before quickly recovering himself. 

“You think I have some ulterior motive?” He challenged, more alarmed at being so easily fond out then angry at the impertinence. 

Leveling him with a look that easily conveyed his mother had raised no fool, Charles washed down his cinnamon roll with the coffee he had not ordered before deigning to answer, the age-old power play more than just a little familiar with Gibbs. 

“I know you didn’t call me here to sign paperwork.” The engineer stated, his amusement at the notion vastly outweighing any irritation he might have felt at the subterfuge. “Not only did I already sign the required documents, at your desk might I add, the fax machine in the bullpen could have been used had I actually forgotten to sign.” 

More than just a little miffed that it had been technology to bring his plans to a halt, as his war with such things had already been raging on for decades, Gibbs scowled and inwardly cursed himself for failing to have learned anything from his first wife’s numerous machinations. Because now, as matters currently stood, he wasn’t exactly sure his careful could be salvaged. Which meant, much to his great distaste, that the only options left to him were to surrender and go for broke. 

“I came to reward you.” Gibbs fibbed, not yet willing to give in completely. 

“To reward me?” Charles scoffed, reasonably offended at the idea that his fifteen hours of work was worth only a cinnamon roll. 

Pleased to find that his pawn had taken the bait, even if such an occurrence did make him feel a bit skeevy, Gibbs nodded and stole a quick bite of muffin before answering. 

“Yes.” He readily agreed. “You like football, right?” 

Making the question more of a statement, as Ducky was the only man he knew who really didn’t enjoy football, Gibbs was delighted when his assertions were proven correct by the delighted gleam in the redhead’s eyes. 

“I very much enjoy football, yes.” The engineer understated, his passion for such a sport all but palpable in the nearly dead restaurant. 

“Good.” Gibbs grunted. “I got tickets to the game tomorrow. You in?” 

Understandably taking on the expression of one who knew he was rapidly hurtling toward some type trap, one that he so clearly had no real hope of avoiding, Charles frowned suspiciously and took a long sip of coffee before sighing aloud and finally giving in to Gibbs’s orchestrations. 

“I’m in.” Charles muttered, not looking at all pleased with his surrender. 

Far too pleased with his victory to even consider the suspicious gleam in Thorpe’s eyes, much less call the young man out on it, Gibbs smirked behind his coffee cup and wondered why Shannon had ever had such a hard time setting her friends up with each other. Because, from where he was currently sitting, such an undertaking had not really been so difficult after all.

“Tony’s going to be there, isn’t he?” Charles interrogated, a knowing expression replacing the suspicious one in his eyes. 

“I suppose he will be.” Gibbs shrugged, feigning indifference. 

Not at all fooled by such superb acting, the hyper-intelligent professor raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at Gibbs and smirked. 

“Tony doesn’t know I’m going to be there.” 

Frustrated to find that his subtly had once more proven to be no match for that of the veteran’s, Gibbs stabbed angrily at his muffin before grunting his response. 

“No. He doesn’t.” 

Although Gibbs would have expected a certain amount of smugness in the man upon hearing the news his deductions had proven correct, it was a decidedly annoyed expression that greeted him rather than a self-righteous one. 

“Would you mind explaining to me why you’re trying to set up a straight man with a queer?” 

Flinching at the casual usage of the homophobic slur, as well as bristling at the idea of anyone so smart accusing him of ignorantly trying to set up incompatible couples, Gibbs scowled and bit down on his tongue to keep from snapping at the redhead. 

“Use your goddamn brain for a minute.” He growled instead. 

Because as much as he would have loved to be more specific, that was as close to an outing as Gibbs was willing to get. Thankfully for the both of them, as well as Tony, the engineer seemed to quickly grasp his meaning. 

“Tony led me to believe he was straight.” The engineer accused, clearly doubtful. 

“He also led me to believe he knew how to drive stick.” Gibbs countered. “He didn’t.” 

And it was only with a considerable amount of will-power that Gibbs kept from smiling at such a remembrance, the damage to the military vehicle he had illegally allowed his boy to drive paling in comparison to the amusement he had experienced upon seeing the Director falter and pale when faced with the prospect of explaining to an angry admiral just how such a thing had come to be under his watch. 

“Why me, Gibbs?” Charles questioned, looking more confused than wary. “Why me?” 

Because, Gibbs wanted to say – because his boy had been brought home by far too many assholes. Because his boy had showed up with far too many tears in his eyes. Because Tony’s eye had all but lit up when he had flirted with Charles. Because Tony had looked at the engineer like Gibbs had once looked at Shannon. 

“Because you don’t wear obnoxious cologne.” Gibbs sighed, not trusting himself to say much more. 

“I’m not sure I follow.” Charles frowned. 

“I don’t need you to.” Gibbs dismissed, getting to his feet. “I just need you to show up.”


	32. Chapter 32

Having long since developed a great intolerance for any significant amount of heat after his lengthy stint in the Middle East, as well as after a horrendous childhood spent toiling away for mindless hours on the compound farmland without any water of protection from the sun, Charles almost smiled as the sharp breeze bit at his ears and invigorated the majority of his senses. 

His only real complaint of the day was, in fact, that his bitter ex had yet again found it fitting to sabotage the tires of his Jaguar sometime late that morning – subsequently making him ten minutes late to arrive at the stadium. And as great an annoyance as that truly was, such a frustration was only amplified when the resultant tardiness resulted in his having to wade through several feet of drunken spectators in search of the mean who he had earlier agreed to meet him at the gate. 

The only saving grace of that afternoon, as well as his date, came about in the form of his not having to go all too far before he found the duo in question – the elder with an impatient scowl on his face as he tried to force a hat over his boy’s reddened ears, and the younger all but contorting his body in an awkward manner to avoid the fate of his hair being mussed. 

“For God’s sake, you asshole!” Gibbs growled, startling several revelers. “Just put the goddamn hat on!” 

Placing his gloveless hands atop his hair to prevent the inevitable placement of the dreaded hat, Tony scowled in a fashion fit to rival his mentor’s and shook his head. 

“I already told you,” Tony argued, more annoyed then angry, “I’m not cold!”

“I don’t care if you’re a hundred damn degrees!” The Marine barked. “You had the goddamn plague!” 

Although Charles had been more than just a little hesitant to intervene in such a familial spat, he soon found he could not remain a silent spectator upon the news of hearing his date had evidently suffered an extant medieval disease. 

“I’m sorry,” Charles interrupted, “But did you say he had the plague?!” 

Despite having spoken in his usual even tone, several eavesdropping revelers balked at the news and hurriedly scooted away from the perceived contagion zone. 

“Yes!” Gibbs snarled, finally managing to fulfil his hat-placing goals as Tony turned to greet him. 

“That was years ago!” The offended man argued, attempting to remove the hat. 

“And have your lungs become any less scared since then?!” 

Impatiently slapping away the fingers that were working so hard to undo his good work, Gibbs glowered dangerously and looked ready to throttle to his agent – a fact evidently not lost on Tony judging by the way he quickly yielded and moved his fingers to his lap. 

“You know, Ducky says that being cold doesn’t actually mean you’ll get sick.” Tony groused.

“He also says that I shouldn’t hit you upside the head so hard after so many concussions.” Gibbs retorted. “Which advice would you rather I heed today?” 

Pausing only a moment to contemplate the wisdom of his next reply, and failing to see that it was not in anywhere a prudent response, Tony grinned cheekily and set his father-figure’s blood-pressure rising to near-dangerous levels. 

“Why couldn’t you do both?”

Before any life-ending headslaps could occur, and thus jeopardize his date, Charles intervened and loudly cleared his throat before seating himself in the empty seat to Tony’s left. 

“Tell me more about this plague.” Charles insisted, before Gibbs could so much as resume his scolding of the man. 

Earning a frown from the both of them at such a question, Charles frowned and was prepared to change the subject when Tony gave answer. 

“I don’t like to talk about that.” 

“I apologize.” Charles quickly expressed, feeling more than just a little awkward. 

Because if anyone knew what it was like to have things they did not wish to discuss, it was most certainly he with his garish face scars. 

“You’re late.” Gibbs said, though more out of the desire to prevent any awkwardness than from any inherent rudeness. 

Taking a deep breath so that his tone would remain even, a nasty habit he hadn’t quite managed to eradicate after spending his youth in such an emotionally-repressive household, Charles grimaced apologetically at the both of them before giving his explanation. 

“My ex attacked the tires this time.” 

“Why do you not have a restraining order against him?” Tony demanded, his frown both sympathetic and concerned. 

Not knowing quite how to explain to the man in question that his hellish upbringing had instilled in him a great aversion for involving law enforcement in anything, Charles was almost glad when Gibbs answered for him. 

“Like a restraining order ever did any good.” 

More than halfway prepared to agree with the Marine, simply to put an end to that unpleasant line of inquiry, Charles opened his mouth only to put off-guard by the thunderous expression on his date’s face. 

“I – What did I miss while I was gone?” He asked instead. 

“Nothing much. Some girl got drunk and tried to streak across the field.” Tony offered. 

Cringing at the visual that inadvertently came to his mind, Charles frowned and sought to change the subject.

“That…must have been interesting.” 

“No.” Gibbs grimaced. “The idiot was nearly 400 pounds. It took three guards to tackle her.” 

Glad to have not been a spectator to such an event, Charles relaxed a bit in his seat and turned to ask his date if he might not like to accompany him on a trip to get something warm to drink – only to have his plans immediately thwarted by the man in question. 

“Speaking of getting fat,” Tony piped, looking at his father, “I do believe I was promised some nachos.” 

“You know,” Gibbs began, already rising to his feet, “Must grown ass men don’t need to be bribed into wearing a coat in this sort of weather.” 

Not even having the decency to look even marginally ashamed at his childish behavior, Tony grinned cheekily at his employer and yawned lazily. 

“I’m not like most men, Gibbs.” 

“You’re right.” The Marine responded. “You’re more like a spoiled toddler.” 

Heartily enjoying such familial banter, as he had most certainly never experienced such for himself growing up, Charles remained a silent observer in the conversation so that he might not alter its authenticity. 

“Toddlers get spoiled by their authority figures.” Tony sassed. “Just saying.” 

Either unable to formulate a retort to such sound reasoning, or simply unwilling to in front of so many witnesses, Gibbs glowered and shook his head. 

“I’ll be back.” The older man informed Charles. “Make sure he keeps that damn hat on.” 

“I’ll try.” Charles avowed, purposely not backing himself into any promises. 

Seeming content enough at that answer, or perhaps figuring that was all he was going to get, Gibbs nodded and began to stalk off – only to have his footfalls momentarily halted by Tony calling out at him. 

“Gibbs – “ 

“Yeah, yeah,” The Marine grumbled, not even turning around, “Extra olives – I know.”


	33. Chapter 33

While Charles was, at first, initially excited at the prospect of being left alone with his unsuspecting date, that enthusiasm was rapidly diminished almost the very second they had lost sight of the Marine in the crowd – for without said man’s presence and absurdly blunt way of beginning conversations, a decidedly awkward silence soon settled amongst he and Tony. And while a bit of silence wasn’t at all an unfamiliar sensation for him, having grown up on a compound that fiercely enforced its silent hours, the fact that such an uncomfortable quiet had settled in while in the company of his date was certainly more than enough to unsettle him. 

“You’ve got a nice dad – boss! You’ve got a nice boss.” Charles babbled, nearly desperate to break the silence. 

Starling a bit at the sudden sound of conversation, Tony blinked and quickly recovered himself. 

“Yeah, he’s great.” Tony agreed, his earlier annoyance with the man long-since forgotten.

“Doesn’t your biological father ever get jealous?” Charles queried. 

Because, when all was said and done, his own father had certainly dissolved into an angry fit upon learning his eldest son had formed a clandestine friendship with the elderly police officer who lived just a few miles away from their compound – said man’s greatest crime, being of course, the fact that he would spoil Charles with doughnuts and share with him the ‘delusions’ that parents really weren’t allowed to physically assault their children whenever the mood struck them. 

“I don’t really care how Senior thinks or feels about it.” Tony dismissed, scowling as he shrugged his shoulders. 

Knowing the tell-tale signs of a fellow shitty-childhood survivor, Charles frowned sympathetically before asking his next question. 

“Did you have a shitty father, as well?” 

“Yeah.” Tony readily agreed, putting on a mask of false serenity. “Senior didn’t even call when I had the plague.” 

“Honestly?” Charles questioned, unwilling to believe such a thing. 

Because even his own father, a man who had several times admitted to viewing his own children as nothing more than ‘clever workhorses,’ had once showed minor concern when Charles had fallen off the roof at nine and shattered his left leg. And granted while that had been more of the result of his loss of the only son old enough to help out with the harvest, that negligible amount of concern stood out in stark comparison to ‘Senior’ who clearly couldn’t have been bothered to visit his only child in the hospital as he fought off what was once one of the deadliest diseases known to man. 

“He was on his honeymoon with his sixth wife.” Tony grumbled. “I guess he didn’t want to be disturbed.” 

“Is your father King Henry the Eight?” Charles teased, wishing to lighten the mood. 

Awarding his efforts with a small smile, Tony sipped at his beer and shook his head. 

“Senior hasn’t quite gotten to the point of beheading…At least not yet.” 

“How fortuitous for his wives.” Charles quipped. “But you must have a lot of siblings.” 

Because even if this aforementioned Senior had only managed to sire one child each with every respective wife, that would make for a grand total of five half-siblings for Tony. 

“No, there’s just me as far as I know.” Tony refuted. “Senior always said I was the perfect poster-child for early vasectomies.” 

“Ouch!” Charles winced, grimacing at the abject cruelty. 

Shrugging his shoulders in a manner clearly meant to convey he was done with that line of conversation, Tony finished off his beer in two large gulps before beginning anew a different topic. 

“How about you?” He asked. “Do you have a large family?” 

“I have nine sisters and three brothers.” Charles admitted.

And while he hadn’t even really gotten the chance to form a bond with any of his brothers, two of them having not yet been born before he fled, it was still with a certain amount of sadness that Charles reflected upon the fact that his early emancipation had meant losing all contact with those sisters he was most close with. 

“You must be Catholic.” Tony reasoned. 

“No.” Charles smiled. “I was raised a Christian Fundamentalist.” 

“Yikes.” Tony commiserated. “I hope you weren’t a middle-child in all that mess.” 

Despite harboring the idea that it would have probably been much better had he actually been born in the middle, if not for the added benefit of kinder sister-moms to raise him then for the boon of having significantly older parents who were far too worn out with age to properly beat him, Charles kept polite and kept his unwelcome opinion out of his answer. 

“I was actually one of the oldest.” Charles explained. “And the only boy for quite a while.” 

“Which meant that all the outside work went to you?” 

“Yes – my last two brothers weren’t even born by the time I ran off.” 

To be perfectly honest, Georgie hadn’t even been more than a few months old, either. 

“How’d you find out about them?” Tony asked, wisely assuming he’d been shunned after fleeing. 

“Kitty sends me letters every now and then.” Charles confessed. 

And while the information in such letters was certainly suspect, as Kitty could only share what news Charlotte managed to smuggle out of her own home, it was certainly adequate to keep them both up to date on that which occurred within their family. 

“Did you two run away together?” Tony queried. 

Inadvertently flinching at the innocent question, as it had inevitable brought back the remembrances of him leaving his favorite sibling behind to face the wrath of their father, who had unreasonably suspected her of playing a part in his escape, Charles grimaced and sighed. 

“She waited a lot longer to run away.” He explained. 

But not soon enough, he wanted to add. 

“You two must be close.” Tony supposed, looking hopeful. 

“No.” Charles sighed. “She’s still…really religious – just in a different way now.” 

And by that he meant, of course, that her focus had shifted from fundamentalism into an extreme form of baptism. 

“She wears pants now, at least.” He added, wishing to make light of the situation.

“What a harlot.” Tony teased, taking his lead. 

“Yes.” Charles grinned. “Soon she’ll be wearing makeup and cutting her hair.” 

“Do you still see her a lot?” Tony asked. “On holidays, at least?” 

Having not seen the woman in question for nearly three years, the result of a full-blown argument betwixt the two of them about her ‘soft bigotry,’ Charles found he could not allow himself to answer in the affirmative. 

“No. Kitty still has a lot of…conditioning in her.” Charles frowned. “She never did go to therapy like I did.” 

“She won’t see you because you’re gay.” Tony stated bluntly. “Will she?” 

“That’s certainly one of the biggest factors, yes.” 

Because while Kitty was certainly magnanimous enough to ‘forgive’ him for his occasional drinking and general irreverence on the Sabbath, she never could manage to overlook his ‘chosen’ orientation. And while said woman claimed that stubborn hostility came about from her fear for his immortal soul, the fact that she was so easily able to write off the brother who had so often taken her beatings for her wounded him to no small degree. 

“I’m sorry.” Tony empathized. “When my mom died, her side of the family wouldn’t speak to me anymore either. Nevermind how ridiculous it was to punish an eight-year-old for his father isolating his wife.” 

Not at all unfamiliar with the concept of shunning, Charles awkwardly patted his date’s knees and hoped the actions wasn’t misconstrued. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah,” Tony sighed, “I’m sorry, too.” 

Neither one of them then knowing what to say, they sat in mutually contemplative silence until Charles gathered up the courage to speak. 

“Your boss is taking a rather long time to return.” 

“Yeah.” Tony smirked, instantly brightening. “His matchmaking isn’t exactly subtle, is it?” 

Instantly blushing at the casual admittance that his date had known all along what was going on, and anxiously wondering if that worked in his favor, Charles cleared his throat several times before managing to speak. 

“You knew what this was the whole time?” 

Looking very smug, Tony just nodded and stole a victory sip of beer from his father’s glass. 

“Just as soon as you showed up, I did.” He admitted. “Gibbs isn’t exactly as suave as he thinks he is.” 

Grateful that the Marine in question wasn’t around to hear his ‘suaveness’ called into question, Charles allowed himself a relieved smile. 

“And you didn’t bother to call him out for it?” 

“Why should I have?” Tony questioned. “Gibbs likes to feel useful and I had good reason for playing along.” 

Face now entirely aflame with the deliverance of such bold flirtations, for there was no mistaking the agent’s intentions this time, Charles cursed his pale skin but forced himself to return the affections. 

“I suppose I had my reasons for playing along, as well.” 

“Well then,” Tony smiled, “It looks like we both owe Gibbs a beer or two before this evening is over.” 

Biting back the wanton retort that they owed the man a whole lot more for what he had done, Charles willed his blush to diminish as he silently contemplated whether or not it had ever really been so cold as he had earlier thought it to be. 

“I – “ Tony began – only to be cut off by Gibbs’s prompt return. 

“Something happen while I was gone?” Gibbs asked, casually seating himself on Tony’s left and giving the boy his nachos before passing a corndog to him. 

“No.” They both answered, Tony’s blush rising to match his own.


	34. Chapter 34

More than happy to have sequestered himself away in his basement for the first time in several weeks, more pressing matters having kept him well away from such a sanctuary, Gibbs yawned and stretched before resuming the sanding of the boat he had so long neglected. But rather than have the cassette of Kelly’s piano-concert playing the background as was his usual habit, Gibbs instead turned on a portable radio to the loudest rock-station he could find – more concerned about blocking out the noises coming from upstairs then he was about any potential damage to his ears. Because as glad as he was that Tony had finally given in and grown to accept his orientation, at least to a certain extent, that most certainly did not mean that Gibbs had any real desire to hear the giggling and heavy breathing emanating from his living room as his boy and current suitor ‘watched a movie.’ For same-sex couple or not, that shit was just awkward in general. 

In fact, it was almost enough to make him sympathize with his own father – having several times in the past forced the man in question to endure the exact same awkwardness he, himself, was now facing. The only real difference being, of course, the fact that Gibbs had not yet had the dubious pleasure of walking in on his boy attacking his beau from behind while said partner was bent over an active drying machine. God help him, Gibbs thought with a shudder, there was absolutely nothing that could ever be done to help him forget the look of sheer horror on his father’s face that particularly early morning. It had been literal months before his father would speak to them again, and all but half a year before he could even look at them without turning bright red and quitting the room – the only real saving grace of such tension being, of course, that both he and Shannon had been absolutely positive that was the day they had conceived Kelly. 

Quickly pushing away such thoughts, as sad remembrances of his daughter would only provoke him into bringing out the bourbon and drinking himself into oblivion, Gibbs bit down on his tongue and began the fruitless search for the purple chisel he had earlier dropped. Because even if he did have half-a-dozen of the same such tools, those being newer and far less colorful, Shannon had bought him that purple monstrosity of a joke for their third anniversary and he just couldn’t bear to let it go so easily. Not when it meant so much to him, and especially not when he knew it had to be around the basement somewhere. 

“Looking for something?” 

Gibbs had been just about ready to get down on his hands and knees to rifle through a small pile of sawdust for the keepsake when the accented voice had halted his movements – its nature both familiar and unwelcome all at once. But rather than turn and greet his unexpected visitor, as would have been polite, Gibbs glowered and viciously began sanding his boat once more. 

“What do you want, Mallard?” 

Opting not to respond immediately to the question, something that infuriated Gibbs to no end, the Medical Examiner simply padded silently across the floor and gingerly placed the purple chisel on its usual place atop the worktable. 

“Where did you find that?” Gibbs demanded, still not turning to look at the uninvited guest.

“It was lying atop the guardrail, Jethro.” The Scottish man clarified. “You must have set it there on your way upstairs.” 

Seeing as that was a very real possibility, as Gibbs would often drunkenly leave his belongings in the oddest of places, he scowled at his own carelessness before pressing on to an equally concerning matter. 

“How did you get past Tony?” 

Because as enamored with his new beau as said agent currently was, which was quite a lot, there was simply no way in hell that DiNozzo would have ever let the Medical Examiner into the basement to see Gibbs after having been told what the Scottish man had said to his employer.

“I do believe your Anthony is currently up in his bedroom.” 

As the thought of one’s child having sex was not a welcome presence in any parent’s mind, Gibbs cringed inwardly and couldn’t help but think he would have been better off hitting up a sports bar for an hour or two. Because as long as he had planned to sand, the frustrating fact remained that there was only a small section of wood left that still needed such a treatment. And rather than begin the monumental task of painting his current project, something that was better started in the daylight hours of a rare weekend off, he knew he would be much better off crawling into his bed and calling it a night. But, he quickly reasoned, he could do no such thing if Tony and his date were currently…making use of the former’s bed. 

“What do you want, Mallard?” Gibbs sighed. “I’ve had a long day.” 

Because as much fun as Tony had been having with Charles for the past week, Gibbs had been having an inverse amount of such joy when it came to work – the Director’s wrath at his earlier insubordination still making itself known via a copious amount of pointless paperwork and extended hours. 

“I do hope you’re not too tired to accept an apology from an old friend.” 

Still greatly incensed about the poor treatment of his boy, as well as utterly livid at the callous way in which the Scot had used Kelly and Shannon against him, Gibbs almost opted not to turn around in favor of resuming both his sanding and shunning as well. It was only when he caught sight of the purple chisel again that he relented, the tool serving as a more than adequate reminder of all that Ducky had done to help him during the hellish process of grieving for his lost family. 

“I suppose that depends.” Gibbs grunted, finally turning to face his long-time colleague. 

Taken a bit aback to see the unaffected contrition showing on the lanky man’s face, as well as mildly reassured by the embarrassed blush coloring said man’s cheeks, Gibbs pushed away all anger for the moment and resolved to at least hear the bespectacled man out before doing or saying anything drastic. 

“Jethro,” Ducky began, the words thick with emotion, “I know I can never excuse the callousness and vulgarity I used doing our last conversation. That behavior was simply unconscionable and cruel.” Pausing there a long moment to collect his thoughts, the aging Medical Examiner needlessly readjusted his glasses before beginning afresh. “I do however, wish to apologize – most ardently, and more importantly, sincerely. I took my frustrations out on you and your boy, and that was not all appropriate. I apologize, Jethro. I do hope you can find a way to forgive me.” 

Had it been anyone else but the perpetually honest and candid Ducky he was dealing with, Gibbs would have been inclined to bristle with rage and accuse the apologizer of irreverence and insincerity before tossing them into the street on their ass. 

But, as it was, he knew perfectly well that the Scottish man had never been anything but perfectly honest with him – even when doing so had, at times, put him in the metaphorical doghouse with Gibbs for days at a time. 

And Gibbs just couldn’t sacrifice a friendship like that, no matter how fiercely angry said man had managed to make him. 

“I hope you understand that if you ever speak of my family that way again I’ll break your nose.” He stipulated, wanting to set the terms clearly so that it would never come to that. 

Giving him a rueful little smile, Ducky nodded his consent to such a fair term. 

“I dare say you still owe me a broken nose.” The Medical Examiner professed. “What I said was absolutely vile.” 

“I know.” Gibbs agreed. “Which is why we won’t bring it up again.” 

Because as much as his therapist had taken to warning him about the dangers of repressing his emotions, Gibbs just didn’t have the heart to begin a conversation that would surely result in both Kelly and Shannon being brought up – at least not yet. 

“Does this mean I am forgiven?” Ducky queried. 

“Not quite.” Gibbs answered. “You need to get Tony’s forgiveness before you get mine.”


	35. Chapter 35

Despite knowing perfectly well that Gibbs’s intentions for him visiting the morgue were nefarious, and had absolutely nothing to do with his needing of an overdue signature from the resident Medical Examiner, Tony hadn’t dared call his boss out on his bullshit as he collected the correctly-filed paperwork and stalked off to obey the orders. Because as nice as said man had been being to him as of late, the sure result of their relationship having gradually gone back to normal, Tony hadn’t dared push his luck whilst knowing full-well that the Director was still angry and trying to aggravate his father via any means possible. 

Because while at home a little cheek was perfectly acceptable, if not welcomed to a certain degree, at work such sass would bring about the promise of death or serious injury to his person. And, having just found for himself a boyfriend he utterly adored, Tony just wasn’t quite that ready to surrender his life for something so ridiculous as an impudent remark. At least not until, God forbid, Charles decided he didn’t return his affections anymore. 

Because said man’s damnable primness aside, Tony had somehow inadvertently fallen hard for the towering redhead in the space of just nine days. For not only did the both of them fortuitously share a great enthusiasm for anything even remotely sports related, Charles’s fervor perhaps even outweighing his own, so too did they both prefer the concept of being active and outdoors rather than cooped up inside and glued to a screen. 

And even ‘if’ they did have their significant differences, his boyfriend ‘currently’ having no great love of theatre or classical films, in much the same vein that Tony had no great fondness for Charles’s hobbies of chess and jigsaw puzzles, those differences seemed but small compared to the troubles that might affect the relationships of others. If anything, he reasoned, it only brought them closer, as Tony had taken to sharing his favorite films with the veteran and Charles had taken to ‘trying’ to teach him to play chess.

In fact, he was all but certain he would have another such tutorial awaiting him at Charles’s house – along with a remarkably delicious supper paired expertly with whatever wine his engineer had been inclined toward that evening. He need only get this forced interaction with Ducky over first. 

“Palmer.” Tony greeted, nearly running into the awkward man as he stepped into the chilly morgue. “Is Ducky in his office?” 

“He is.” The tall man agreed, harshly narrowing his eyes at him. 

In no mood to deal with any petulant behavior, much less outright subordination, Tony scowled and made to shove past the errant assistant. But before he could so much as lift a foot, much less move forward, a surprisingly firm hand was on his bicep and holding him in place. 

“If you ever upset Ducky that greatly again, I’ll see to it that you’re the next visitor in the morgue.” Jimmy cautioned, squeezing his bicep painfully before relinquishing him. 

Blinking in abject surprise, as he was more than just a little shocked to discover that the autopsy gremlin actually did, in fact, possess a pair of balls, Tony quickly recovered and opened his mouth in preparation of making inquiries as to just where said man had been storing them all this time. But before he could so much as move his tongue, much less articulate the first word in his question, the opportunity was swiftly lost via Ducky opening his office door and gesturing him inside. And, seeing no way in which he might refuse the innocent request, as Gibbs had all but ordered him to interact with said man, Tony sighed and bit back his quip before marching into the small space. 

“Anthony.” Ducky greeted. “I was hoping you would come.” 

“Gibbs sent me.” Tony promptly informed, slapping the paperwork down atop his dusty desk. 

It was there an uncomfortable silence ensued, they both them of them clearly waiting for the other to speak and make known their feelings. And even though he was never one to willingly tolerate such quiet, the polar-opposite of his father, Tony found he just did not have it within him to speak first and play the proverbial peace-keeper as was his usual wont. He was far too wounded, as well as angry, to offer up such characteristic magnanimity. 

“You’ll have to forgive my Jimmy.” The Medical Examiner finally spoke. “I fear my lad is rather protective of me.” 

Given that Tony was just as fiercely protective of Gibbs, something that greatly embarrassed said man to no end, he sighed but nodded in agreement to the unspoken request he not retaliate against Palmer for doing the very same thing he would have done were the roles reversed. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” Ducky suggested, gesticulated toward the slowly deteriorating swivel chair. 

“I think I’ll stand.” Tony decided, pressing his back up against the wall closest to the door. 

Because even if his back was killing him, the sure result of long hours spent bent over a chess board, Tony was far more unwilling to place himself at such an awkward and uneven height disparity. 

“Very well.” Ducky obliged, promptly seating himself atop the desk. “Have I ever told you about my mother?” 

Taken aback at the unexpected question, as Tony had assumed the sensitive older man would immediately launch into an apology instead, he frowned to convey his disturbance but nonetheless humored the Medical Examiner by answering his question. 

“Many times.” 

Although, looking back on it, Tony was almost certain that such narratives were more quantitative in nature rather than qualitative. Because, at the end of the day, all he seemed to have really learned from those diatribes was that Victoria Mallard had once had blonde hair and possessed a particularly annoying predisposition of forgetting people’s names and faces. 

“Did I ever tell you about Henry MacClare?” 

If he were to be perfectly honest, with himself as well as Ducky, Tony couldn’t honestly say whether or not such a name had been brought up in his presence – for he, much like majority of the NCIS staff, had a well-ingrained habit of zoning out during said man’s eccentric ramblings. But seeming to take notice of his great reluctance to answer the question, as well as seeming not to take such ignorance to heart, Ducky stepped in and continued his narrative without awaiting an answer. 

“Henry MacClare, Anthony, was a neighbor boy of mine. We were both of the same age and attended primary school together.” The Medical Examiner narrated, a melancholic smile coming to settle across his face.   
“As was only natural given our close proximity, we soon became best mates. We would spend hours together in Mother’s garden, hunting down frogs and worms to hide in his older sisters’ hats and shoes. And, when we were feeling particularly mischievous and bold, we would even sneak into the neighborhood church and take turns scribbling obscenities in Bibles.” He paused there a moment to let lose a chuckle, the sound more sad than amused. “This went on for years, Anthony, up until we both turned eleven and discovered it was time to be shipped off to a boarding school of our parent’s choosing.”

“You didn’t get to go to the same school, did you?” Tony questioned, already knowing the answer. 

And, having himself been shipped off at an early age to a boarding school without any friends to accompany him, Tony felt more than just a little sympathy for the narrating man. 

“No, we did not.” Ducky agreed. “Henry was to be shipped off to some draconian religious institution, and I was set to go off to one of the most prestigious schools in all of Scotland.” Pausing a moment to gather his emotions, as well as to steal a sip of tea, Ducky frowned deeply before pressing onward. “Now, normally that would have been a bad enough experience for two young boys. But, alas, things quickly soured from there as you’ll soon find out.” 

Not really knowing what to say, Tony simply stood awkwardly and patiently waited for the sad tale to continue. 

“There was a clubhouse you see, or rather, a storage shed on his property. It was there we met to say our goodbyes.” Shaking his head a bit at the remembrance, Ducky smiled sadly before starting afresh. “It was, initially, a blast. Henry had stolen three beers from his older brother and I had pilfered sweets from my mother’s stash in the cellar. By the time things had started to dwindle down, we were both half-drunk on the cheap beer and excitement of getting away with something.” Smile now gone, Ducky paused for dramatic emphasis before continuing. “As was well, Anthony, until I misconstrued our relationship and kissed him. It would seem, in my childish naivety, that I had mistaken our friendship for something more.” 

“But it wasn’t. Was it?” Tony queried. 

“No.” Ducky sighed. “Henry broke my nose and ran home cursing my existence.”

Not even wanting to imagine what words had been used, as he already had a pretty good idea as to what those were, Tony cringed and wondered just what it was about homosexuality that made people so damn weird and cruel. 

“What did you tell your mother?” Tony pestered. 

“I lied to her for the first time in my life and told her that I had gotten into a row with an older boy who tried to steal my pocket-money. She believed me.” The Scottish man promptly summarized. “At least until Clara MacClare phoned the next day.” 

“I take it your mother wasn’t happy with you.” Tony dared venture. 

Looking far older than Tony had ever seen him look, the Medical Examiner slumped his shoulders and shook his head. 

“I was shipped off to camp those last few weeks of summer.” He frowned. “One that specialized in ‘corrective disciplines.’” 

“You were sent to a conversion camp.” Tony stated. 

“Yes. And then promptly to boarding school upon my return.” Ducky continued, his frown down a resentful scowl. “Mother would not even speak to me until the following summer. And, when she did finally deign to speak to me, her only child, it was to tell me, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to discuss the events of the previous summer again if I ever hoped not to be sent back to that camp.” 

Struggling to imagine just how awful such a place could be, having read about them in the newspaper every few years whenever a major scandal at one of them broke out, Tony grimaced and felt sick to his stomach. 

“She made you promise never to come out, didn’t she?” 

“Yes, Anthony.” He frowned. “Both that summer and on her deathbed.” 

Having never once harbored the longing to punch a woman, not even Ziva after the tire-iron incident, Tony found himself blanching in horror when he realized just how much he wanted to strike the now-deceased Victoria Mallard. 

“I’m sorry, Ducky.” 

“No, do not apologize, Anthony.” The Medical Examiner insisted. “I am the one who owed you an apology.” 

Before the conversation could get to a point where the troubled older man began to verbalize flagellate himself, Tony stalked across the wooden floorboards and grabbed up one of Ducky’s hands in his own. 

“Don’t.” He insisted. “I know why you were so angry now.” 

Stiffening at the sudden contact, but otherwise making no moves to shoo his hand away, Ducky straightened his spine and ‘tried’ to give him a firm look. 

“You deserve an apology, young man, and you’ll get one.” 

Although he no longer wished for one, now knowing what he knew, Tony held silent and allowed the Scottish man the liberty of making his amends – realizing that the Medical Examiner needed to voice one far more than Tony needed to hear it. 

“I ought not to have spoken so harshly to you, Anthony. Nor should I have sent you away when you were only seeking help. For that you have my sincerest apologies. If there is anything, anything at all, I can do to make it better – just let it be known to me and I shall happily oblige you.” Giving him a plaintive look, one that struck Tony to the very core, he pressed on. “I wish only to make it known that my anger came from a place of resentment, and not out of any real malice toward your person. You are a good person, Anthony, and I should not have been so quick to assume the worst of you.” 

“You resent me?” Tony frowned, wounded to the very core. 

Quickly sensing his mistake, the Medical Examiner shook his head and tutted softly. 

“I resented your confidence and bravery.” The older man corrected. “And, to a certain extent, I suppose I resented the relationship you have with Gibbs.”

Knowing all too well what such resentful felt like that, as Tony had spent many holidays at boarding school resenting his friends who got to go home to their loving families, he squeezed the wrinkled hand he was holding hostage before speaking. 

“You’re forgiven, Ducky.” He readily obliged. “On one condition.” 

“And what is that condition, my dear boy.” Ducky asked, looking relieved beyond comprehension. 

“That you think over your decision to stay in the closet.” Tony stipulated. “It’s dark in there.”


	36. Chapter 36

Just that Saturday morning having fielded a decidedly panicked call from Abby claiming that her wedding had been ruined on account of “The Flakey Croissant” having cancelled her order of three hundred cupcakes at the last moment, all on spurious claims that they had never received the final deposit from Gibbs, Tony frowned and yawned loudly as Tim frantically navigated Abby’s hearse throughout the streets of the city in desperate search of any bakery that would be willing to fulfil such a large by the rapidly-approaching Halloween. 

“I mean for God’s sake!” Tim cried, uncharacteristically cutting off a bus full of young football players. “How hard can it be to make cupcakes?!” 

Rapidly beginning to fear for his life as the aspiring-writer heedlessly cut across two lanes of traffic, all without so much as glance in the rearview mirror, Tony straightened in his seat and gripped his armrest hard enough to turn his knuckles white. 

“Tim, you just ran a red – “ 

Rather than heed Tony’s warning, and subsequently make amends with the two cars he had just unceremoniously cut off, the groom-to-be flipped off the offended parties for honking and all but doubled his speed to beat another yellow light before it had the chance to turn red. 

“I mean, for God’s sake!” Tim ranted, illegally passing a Prius. “Sarah could whip up twice that amount in a day!” 

Grunting quite ungracefully as Tim slammed on the breaks and sent subsequently sent Tony’s seatbelt digging into his gut, and outright flinching as said man began to curse the errant group of nuns who dared make use of the crosswalk, Tony rubbed at his offended stomach and looked pointedly at Tim. 

“Maybe you could just ask Sarah to – “ 

Although Tony felt his suggestion was more than just a little reasonably, the college freshman in question having several times conveyed to him that baking was one of her favorite things, Tim all but glowered at him as he laid on the horn to get the elderly nuns moving faster. 

“Who do you think helps Abby with the wedding planning while I’m at work?” Tim cried, far more overwhelmed than genuinely angry. “She doesn’t have the time to bake!” 

Almost completely unprepared for his first foray into dealing with a bridezilla and her equally as unhinged groom, as Tim and Abby had been the last people on earth that he would have ever suspected to succumb to such foolishness, Tony struggled for a moment to come up with the best course of action. 

“Just take a deep breath.” Tony patiently advised, gradually coming to a plan. “I think I have an idea.” 

Overstressed, and uncharacteristically impatient as a result, Tim looked expectantly at him for an answer as he zoomed through the crosswalk the hobbling nuns had finally vacated. 

“What did you have in – “ 

“Turn left up here.” Tony ordered, interrupting in much the same manner as the other man had been doing all morning. 

Looking as if he wanted to do nothing more than continue his fruitless scramble throughout the city, rather than take any advice from the friend who was so very often keen on pranking him, Tim worried at a hangnail on his thumb as he clearly debated whether or not to heed his passenger’s advice. 

“I’m your best man.” Tony reminded the frantic fiancé. “And I would never purposely ruin Abby’s wedding.” 

Only convinced when the second half of Tony’s reasoning made itself known, Tim sighed in defeat and reluctantly took a left as directed. 

“I swear to God, Tony,” Tim warned, “If you’re directing me to a Walmart bakery, I’m going to demote you to usher.” 

Ignoring the heatless threat, as he knew full-well Tim would never carry out with such a harsh punishment, Tony simply smiled and continued to patiently navigate them through the rapidly-crowding streets of the city – his magnanimity only once called into question when the harried groom was cut off and subsequently dissolved into a fit of cussing so vile that even Gibbs, himself, would have been aghast.

“Even ‘I’ want to clean your mouth out with soap.” Tony scolded, gesticulating at the parking lot he wished the tech-genius to enter. “Where did you even hear such a…creative phrase?” 

Launching the hearse over a curb to enter the rapidly-filling parking lot, in favor of simply waiting in the turning lane for his turn to enter, Tim shrugged his shoulders and grinned sheepishly. 

“I heard Jimmy yelling something similar when a kidney exploded in his face.” 

Nearly losing his quick breakfast of an apple at such gruesome imagery, Tony scowled and gave his friend a withering look. 

“Jimmy would explode if he said any of those words.” 

Although, even as he made the claim, Tony began to doubt its veracity as his mind went back to the memory of said Autopsy Gremlin threatening him. 

“Boyscouts honor.” Tim pledged, forcing the hearse between two large trucks. “You can even ask Ducky. He was the one who washed his mouth out with soap.” 

Not even marginally surprised that the Medical Examiner had punished his charge, much less in such a parental manner, Tony shared a giggle with Tim before stepping out into the light of a slowly rising sun.

“Are you sure this is the right place.” Tim worried, clearly eyeing up the small establishment and finding it wanting. 

“Trust me.” Tony simply requested.

At that point far too exhausted to offer any real complaints, and perhaps just a smidgeon hopeful that his problem could be so easily solved, Tim bonelessly followed after Tony as the latter lead him wordlessly into Charlotte’s Diner. 

“Where is Charlotte?” Tony inquired of Dolorous. “I need to speak to her.” 

“She’s in the kitchen like always.” The skinny teenager shrugged. “But I wouldn’t go bothering her if I were you. She’s in a foul mood today.” 

“As opposed to what?” Tony quipped.

“You can ask her yourself.” The girl wisely suggested. “Because I’m not that stupid myself.” 

Knowing full-well that Gibbs had just last week been forced to help the girl add up a modest-sized ticket for an impatient customer, Tony found he had to bite his tongue to keep from asking the girl if such was really the case. 

“We should keep looking.” Tim fussed, once the teenager was safely out of earshot. “There’s just no way a place this size can make such a large order.” 

“Just trust me, McGee.” Tony insisted. “When have I ever steered you wrong?” 

Opening his mouth to begin what would surely be a lengthy diatribe of all the ways in which Tony had, in fact, steered him wrong, the stressed-out groom looked incredulously at him and smirked as he prepared to give him a thorough dressing down. But before he could so much as begin his itemized list, and thus gain the upper hand in their conversation, Dolorous returned with an unamused Charlotte in tow.

“Where is your father?” The elderly woman demanded, looking about the diner. “I wouldn’t have come out if I knew he wasn’t here.” 

“He’s working on the boat.” Tony supplied. 

Looking utterly unamused at having been called from her beloved kitchen for nobody more than the man she had once whacked with a spatula for leaning against her display case, Charlotte muttered something incomprehensible under her breath before sending her great-granddaughter off to mind the stove in her absence. 

“Well,” The scrawny woman demanded, “What is that you wanted?” 

“We need you to save Tim’s wedding.” Tony pleaded, gesturing at the man. “The Flaky Croissant canceled their order last minute and we’ve nowhere else to go.” 

Giving Tim a quick once-over, an action that clearly made said man more than just a little uncomfortable, Charlotte sighed and shook her head. 

“That’s what you get for going to such a second-rate bakery.” The elderly room deigned to scold. “But I do owe your father a favor after all he’s done for my girls, I suppose.” 

“So you’ll do it?” Tim pestered, face erupting into a relieved smile. “You’ll help?” 

“So long as you’re sure to give me credit, I suppose I will.” Charlotte bargained. “Now what did you need?” 

Seeming to balk at the prospect of requesting 300 cupcakes from the elderly woman in question, Tim grimaced and looked to Tony for assistance. 

“We need 300 cupcakes, half white and half chocolate.” 

“Is that all?” Charlotte asked, as perfectly calmly as if they had asked for nothing more than a dozen store-bought sweets. 

“Yes.” Tim quickly agreed, wisely deciding to answer before she could change her mind. “Please. We’ll even pay you extra.” 

Impatiently shooing away such an offer, Charlotte scribbled the required number down on her wrinkled skin before launching into an equally as important question. 

“What flavor frosting?” 

Obviously having failed to inquire of Abby that very important detail, and now unable to do so on account of said woman being off-grid as she took a much-need nap, Tim balked and began to hem and haw until, at length, Charlotte lost patience and left them both with the warning that they better have an answer by the time she got back from checking on Dolorous. 

“What do you think Tony?” Tim pestered, once the woman had gone. “Strawberry or chocolate?” Frowning a bit at his own question, the stressed agent quickly added. “Or both?” 

Although looking back he would later think of such a thing as silly, Tony couldn’t help but find himself deeply touched on behalf of Abby that Tim was working himself up to such a state simply to make sure her wedding day was absolutely perfect – even though both of them knew perfectly well that said woman would have been just as happy being married in a courthouse without any fanfare and cupcakes.   
And it was precisely for that reason, as well as a myriad of others that he didn’t understand, that Tony found himself feeling comfortable enough to share with Tim his deepest secret. 

“Tim –“ He began, stomach churning with nervous anticipation. 

“Or, maybe, we could do something like half-and-half. Or would that look stupid? It would, wouldn’t it – “ 

“Tim – “ 

“Or maybe, we should just do both…that way everyone has an option to pick – “ 

“Tim,” Tony began again, this time capturing his friend’s attention, “I’m gay.” 

Just as unprepared to hear the news as Tony had been to share it, Tim startled a bit and then promptly stared at Tony as if he had suddenly sprouted a set of horns. 

“Like…with a man?” Tim inquired, looking entirely nonplussed. 

“Yes, McGee,” Tony confirmed with an eyeroll, “With a man.” 

Pausing only to nod his head, as if Tony had just remarked upon something as trivial as the weather, or perhaps even his plans for lunch, Tim pulled out Abby’s wedding-planning notebook from his pocket and waggled at him. 

“Well, is this guy going to be your plus one?” He inquired, quickly flipping over to the seating-plan his fiancée had scribbled in the middle. “Because Abby is going to kill us if we don’t let her know ahead of time that you’re bringing a date. There’s only a certain number of chairs for each table, you see, and we can’t – “ 

Utterly flabbergasted that Tim was reacting so calmly to his news, as Kate had very nearly choked on her wine when he had shared with her, Tony frowned and playfully slapped Tim on the back of his head. 

“I know you’re stressed about the wedding,” He stipulated, “But did you ‘not’ just hear what I said.” 

“Of course I heard you.” Tim insisted, rubbing at his head. “You have a boyfriend.” 

“How…?” Tony demanded. “How are you so calm about this?” 

Looking very much as if Tony had just asked him what 4 X 4 was, Tim frowned in concern and not-so-subtly began to check his eyes for signs of concussion. 

“Did you need me to freak out?” Tim offered. “Because I could, I mean, if you really wanted me – “ 

Not knowing how anyone could react to such alarming news so calmly, unless having previously been told of such by somebody else, Tony scowled and narrowed his eyes at Tim. 

“Who told you?” He demanded, already suspecting Kate. 

“Nobody told me.” The other agent assured, hand over heart. “I swear.” 

Always having possessed the remarkable gift of knowing when he was being lied to, a skill only further honed under Gibbs’s tutelage, Tony felt all anger flee his body as it was rapidly replaced with confusion.

“That why are you not surprised?” He demanded to know, at a complete loss. 

“Is…Is that a legitimate question?” Tim asked. 

Rapidly beginning to suspect that he was currently being punked, or perhaps undergoing the effects of a stroke, Tony threw out his hands in abject frustration. 

“I’m asking it, aren’t it I?” 

Choosing not to bristle in response to being yelled at, as most men would have, Tim frowned and helplessly shrugged his shoulders. 

“I…I just always assumed you were…that way.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Opting to ignore the caution in Tony’s voice, perhaps because it wasn’t as forceful as intended, Tim shrugged once more before launching into an explanation. 

“I mean, it just always seemed like you were trying too hard to make sure everyone knew that you went out with all these hot girls every night.” The book-enthusiast babbled. “But, Tony, you couldn’t even kiss any of them without looking like it took effort.” Tim mumbled, beginning to look a bit awkward. “Plus, you also really, really, like musicals. Like, a lot.” 

His rising concern that somebody else might have noticed his great reluctance to kiss women rapidly displaced by the indignity of the finishing stereotype, Tony rolled his eyes and thwacked Tim upside the head once more. 

“So because I enjoy music, that means I’m gay?” He demanded. 

Returning Tony’s headslap for one of his own, Tim scowled before answering. 

“No,” He grumbled, “You’re gay because you’re dating a man.” 

Stymied by the logic of that retort, as well as smarting from the well-deserved headslap, Tony sighed and nervously bit his lip. 

“Don’t…don’t tell Abby just yet.” He requested, feeling no small amount of guilt for forcing his friend to lie to his soon-to-be-wife.

Because as much as Tony adored Abby to the point of seeing her as a younger sister, the fact still remained that she was a bit of a fetishizer when it came to such things as having gay friends.   
That, and Tony simply didn’t wish to pull focus from the wedding of his two best friends unto his person by coming out. 

“I won’t.” McGee assured. “I’ll let you do it. I promise.” 

Nodding his thanks, as he didn’t quite trust himself to immediately speak, Tony awkwardly fiddled with a loose button on his shirt before making an attempt to lighten the mood. 

“You’re taking this all very well, McGee.” 

“I don’t know why I wouldn’t.” Tim frowned, genuinely confused. “Nothing’s changed. You’re still the annoying asshole you’ve always been.” 

Powerless to stop the grin growing on his face, especially after McGee’s face took on one of it’s own, Tony cursed himself for having first come out to Kate rather than Tim. 

“And you’re not even remotely weirded out?” Tony badgered, nervous to hear the answer. 

“Why should I be?” Tim naively wondered. “I knew almost from the start.” 

Mildly amused at such naivety, as it effectively showed to him the genuine goodness of said agent’s heart, Tony silently thanked his lucky stars for such an irreplaceable friendship. 

“You’re not afraid I’m going to hit on you?” Tony jested. 

“You never had before.” Tim dismissed. “And I’m pretty sure Abby would murder you if you decided to start.” 

Having just last month been forced to intervene between Abby and the female naval officer who had dared smack Tim’s ass, and now baring a small scar on his arm as a result of the goth girl biting him as he held her back from a promised ass-whooping, Tony found he could not argue against such a sound premonition. 

“You’re too good for this world, McGee.” Tony appraised. “I hope you know that.” 

“Stop it, Tony. You’re going to make me blush.” Tim jested, playful but for all of a moment. “But seriously though, the frosting. What kind?”

“All of them, obviously.” Tony decided, rolling his eyes.


	37. Chapter 37

Despite the frigid weather currently affecting the outdoors, Tony sweltered away in his heavy groomsman suit and silently cursed whatever priest had been responsible for prohibiting any air-conditioning in such a heat-absorbing church. Because as impractical as such an upgrade would have been, given the copious amounts of useless stained-glass windows, he was all but sure he would soon pass out at any moment – the priest Abby had selected currently running well past his originally promised ceremony time of an hour. 

But, as greatly uncomfortable as he found himself to be, Tony felt his sufferings paled in comparison to the agonies his best male-friend was currently being forced to endure for love of his soon-to-be-bride. For raised as a fair-weather Protestant, and up until late utterly ignorant as to the working of his fiancée’s faith, Tim quite obviously struggled to do and say all that was expected of him by the priest – a fact clearly not lost on his prospective bride as said woman seemed forced, by a necessity, to clamp down on her bottom lip to keep from giggling irreverently and offending the handful of nuns she had personally invited to witness her nuptials. 

But at the very last moment, mere seconds after Tony had begun to despair that his two closest friends would never be wed, the jowly priest cleared his throat and finally segued into the deliverance of vows – all but earning a collective sigh of relief from the non-Catholics in attendance. 

“Kiss your bride, Timothy McGee.” The rambling clergy ordered, sounding more as if he were delivering Abby to her death rather than declaring her wed. 

But if either half of the newly-married couple took notice of such a pointed slight, neither of them showed any signs of it. Rather Abby, ever the more enthusiast of the two, snatched Tim by his purple tie and playfully pulled him closer for a lascivious kiss, her dark lipstick turning her groom’s lips a dark purple as purposely stretched out the mark of affection. And, not to be outdone when it came to displaying his own great love in the relation, Tim wrapped a strong arm about her tiny waist and held his free hand up in a gesture of joyous victory – earning himself a great amount of awws from all those in attendance, as well a deeply overwhelmed sob of relief from the younger sister who had taken such great strides to ensure such nuptials did, indeed, occur. 

As for Tony, well, he found himself blinking back several hot tears as he watched the whole affair with a genuine grin – his own part in having brought the couple to this point a source of overwhelming pride and joy that he could scarcely contain. But, not wishing to make a scene and pull focus from the jubilant newlyweds, Tony bit down hard on his tongue and choked down a sob as he watched Tim scoop up Abby into his newly-muscular arms and fairy her down the aisle to the triumphant tones of something from one of the Lord of The Rings movies. 

“I think this is our cue.” Sarah managed to choke out, effectively recalling him from his contemplations. 

Discreetly swiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his dark suit, and rapidly blushing in return as he realized several guests were staring at him in eager anticipation, Tony quickly accepted Sarah’s hand and hurriedly ushered her away down the purple-petal strewn aisle – his cheeks growing ever hotter the harder it became not to dissolve into a tearful mess a la Sarah. 

“Is my makeup running?” The college freshman worried, flinching as a cameraman mercilessly captured their splotchy faces for posterity. 

“You look like a racoon.” Tony confessed, wishing to lighten the mood. 

Earning himself a jab in the ribs for such a playful quip, as well as a genuine giggle from the ‘offended’ party, Tony grimaced and finally managed to school his face into a more neutral and acceptable expression – a feat that could not have come soon enough, as moments later the rouge photographer was again in their faces. 

“Don’t worry, Sarah.” Tony consoled. “They’ll be time to redo your makeup before the professional pictures.” 

“There had better be.” Sarah hiccupped, angrily pushing past the man with a camera.


	38. Chapter 38

Having been forced to spend a long two hours in the frigid outdoors taking wedding pictures by a half-frozen lake, and subsequently having had to endure Kate’s endless whining about frozen fingers as a result, Tony was more than just a little relieved when the photographers dismissed them and finally allowed the McAbby wedding party inside the beautiful barn the bride had hand-selected for her reception venue. Considerately lined with wall-to-wall heaters, for the sake of the guests if not the gourmet food, as well as large enough to easily accommodate the enormous mass of guests invited, the building was the place of the dream for all those had willingly frozen for the sake of their friend’s wishes. 

“You had better not be thinking of having outdoor pictures for your wedding.” Tony cautioned Kate, bristling at the very idea being contemplated in late November. 

“God no.” Kate readily agreed, blowing on her blue fingers. “I’m having our wedding planner crank the heat up to 80.” 

Not even wanting to imagine how miserable that would be for the groomsmen, on account of the heavy suits Kate had already picked out for them, Tony grimaced but kept his thoughts to himself on such a manner. Because even if he didn’t exactly relish the idea of being reduced to a sweaty mess by the end of the evening, he found it a far better affair when compared to the prospect of freezing his balls off again. 

“With that dress you picked out, that might be a good idea.” Tony jested instead, effortlessly dodging her annoyed headslap. 

“My dress is not that revealing!” The hangry bridesmaid snapped, forcefully snatching a cube of cheese from a meek waiter as he passed them by. 

Having seen for himself the dress in question, as well as witnessed the way in which the bodice of such a garment lent its wearer’s bosom a fantastic boost, Tony snorted and once more dodged an aggravated blow. 

“One false move in that dress,” Tony warned, “And your boobs will be on full display.” 

Face turning red with hunger-induced rage, Kate visibly bristled and drew a hand back to slap his cheek. 

“Come love, none of that now.” Seamus drawled, wordlessly creeping up behind Kate to surprise her with a hug. “I’ve stolen a tray full of cheese and I need helping eating the evidence.” 

Looking at her fiancé as if he had just offered her the entire world, Kate’s anger quickly deflated and evolved into a more manageable impatience for something solid in her painfully flat stomach. And, sensing it wise to flee the scene before the underfed woman’s anger could rear its ugly head once more, Tony turned quickly on his heel and cowardly left the Irishman to his own devices.

It was only once he was sure that he was out of the danger zone that Tony decreased his speed, not wishing to draw any undue attention unto his person as he searched for the man he thought of as a father-figure. Because as much as they had discussed making use of a cab for their journey home after the wedding, neither one of them wanting to commit to being the designated driver, Tony wished for a final confirmation before he stalked off in pursuit of a glass of champagne. 

As he had expected might be the case all along, Gibbs was soon found being held captive by Abby and the ceremony-photographer, the bride in question all but jabbing the Marine’s ribs in order to provoke a photo-worthy smile unto his usually stern face. 

“Abbs.” Tony intervened, when at last a suitable photo had been taken. “Go and save your husband from your uncle.” 

Initially looking greatly reluctant to take her leave of Gibbs so soon, Abby opened her mouth to refuse the suggestion before a quick glance at her new husband had her rapidly changing her mind. For timid by nature and not at all accustomed to the capricious ways of his new in-laws, Tim was currently involved in an exhausted stand-off with a veritable giant of a man who seemed insistent that the former accept his generous offer of half-a-glass of pure vodka. 

“I told Aunt Margaret not to let him drink!” Abby cried, quickly gathering up her heavy skirts. “Why doesn’t that woman ever listen to anyone?” 

Neither one of them deigning to answer the rhetorical question, as neither of them wished to inadvertently offend the bride, Abby shook her head in an amused yet harried fashioned and quickly set off the rescue her husband from the clutches of her enormous uncle. 

“That girl is going to run herself ragged trying to get pictures with everyone.” Gibbs observed, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. 

“I can’t blame her, it’s a beautiful wedding.” Tony remarked. “I couldn’t even make it past the first kiss without crying. How far did you get?” 

While normally an accusation that Gibbs was capable of crying would have earned the accuser an angry headslap, the Marine in question simply sighed and shook his head. 

“I held out until I saw her walking down the aisle.” The older man confessed, looking more than just a little embarrassed. 

Wishing to spare his father-figure the indignity of having been so easily caught-out, Tony smirked and changed the subject’s focus from Gibbs unto himself. 

“Was I all that noticeable, boss?” 

“You cried like a little bitch, Son.” The Marine smirked. “You had Abby’s grandmother in tears.” 

Cringing at such unwelcome news, Tony glared heavily at the rouge photographer and resolved to have revenge in some capacity before the evening was over. But rather than share such a vow with his father, and subsequently run the risk of being thwarted by the same man, Tony kept mummed and moved the conversation along. 

“Great.” He sighed. “McGee’s going to keep those pictures forever.” 

“No.” Gibbs readily assured. “Sarah will make him delete those.” 

Although Tony wouldn’t exactly put it past Tim to secretly upload a few of those embarrassing pics to his personal computer for future use, for example Sarah’s own wedding one day, he knew also that the Maid-of-Honor was no fool and no stranger at all to her brother’s usual form of mischief. And so, if push came to shove, Tony harbored no doubts whatsoever that the crafty Sarah would squeal to Abby if she felt there was even the slightest possibility of said photos being leaked before their time. 

“Enough talk of photos.” Gibbs growled. “Help me find my table. I’m starving.”


	39. Chapter 39

Already beyond stuffed by the time the four-layer cake was cut and the accompanying cupcakes passed around, and more than just a little tipsy after several hours spent dancing with anyone who requested it of him, Tony practically stumbled through the barn as he made his way outside for a little bit of fresh air. 

Bristling a bit as the cold air washed over his flushed face, but otherwise thankful as the chilly temperature served to revive him a bit, he then strolled leisurely throughout the well-groomed venue until he found a suitable shed to lean against and rest his eyes. 

“Oh, Anthony.” Came an all-too-familiar voice. “You are so predictable.” 

Stilling a bit as the name washed over his ears, and only reluctantly opening up his eyes, Tony’s gut twisted up painfully as he watched Ziva step out of the midst of a cornfield. 

“What…what are you doing here?” 

“Can’t a woman celebrate a marriage?” The Israeli demanded, a wicked grin turning her the corners of her mouth. 

Understanding that he was more than just a little helpless with nary a weapon or cellphone on him, Tony pressed his back against the rough siding of the shed and briefly contemplated fleeing the scene. It was only when he considered that the vindictive woman might very well have a gun or two on her person, that he reconsidered and decided to stall for time. 

“You weren’t invited to this wedding.” Tony said evenly, not wishing to aggravate a potentially violent situation. 

“You wound me, Anthony.” Ziva mocked, slowly stalking forward. 

Unable to keep the image of a lion stalking its prey from his mind, Tony visibly flinched and wished his ego weren’t so large and prohibitive of him yelling for help. 

“What are you doing here, Ziva?” Tony repeated, frantically searching his person for a weapon and coming up with absolutely nothing. 

“Don’t worry.” She drawled. “I am not here for you. I am here for Gibbs.” 

More than just a little confused at the confession, as the brunette surely had to understand that the Marine in question wanted nothing more than to rip in her two, Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her and wondered just how easily he could lose her in a cornfield. 

“For Gibbs?” He demanded, skepticism heavy in his voice. 

“Yes.” Ziva assured, looking more than just a little annoyed at his tone. 

“What could you possibly need Gibbs for?” Tony demanded. “Because I can tell you right now, if you’re planning to get at me by going after him, it’s not going to end well for you.” 

And it was no mere threat either, for Gibbs had a notably reputation in most governmental agencies of going full bezerker whenever he felt the moment called for it. And, though he did not wish to be cocky, Tony was all but sure the harassment of his child would call for such drastic measures. 

“I have no need to threaten him.” Ziva quickly dismissed. “I only need to collect my money.” 

“Money?” Tony parroted, his already frazzled mind immediately jumping to the worst of conclusions as he looked down and finally took notice of the small swell in her belly. 

“You do not need to worry about the baby.” Ziva scowled. “I am no monster. You shall have it just as soon as it’s born.” 

Helplessly flinching at the casual use of ‘it’ to refer to the baby, Tony shook his head and fruitlessly attempted to make sense of the situation. 

“What…What is going on, Ziva?” 

Despite having meant the question to come out as authoritative, it instead came out as a weak and desperate cry for assistance. 

“He did not tell you.” Ziva blinked, a smug expression crossing her face. 

“Tell me what?” Tony demanded, only marginally more forceful. 

Shifting a bit uncomfortably, the new pregnancy no doubt the harbinger of that, Ziva grinned ear to ear and laughed before explaining. 

“Gibbs and I have a little arrangement, Anthony.” She drawled. “And part of that arrangement is that you get the baby in exchange for his helping me evade deportation.” Pausing a moment to readjust her posture, and effortlessly drawing attention onto her swollen ankles, she then moved forward. “But I decided I deserved a little money for the effort of keeping the baby healthy. Gibbs agreed.” 

Experiencing a great influx emotions, of the like he had not experienced since realizing Ziva was out to destroy him, Tony leaned heavily against the side of the shed and struggled not to dissolve into a full-fledged panic attack. 

“You don’t need to bother Gibbs.” Tony finally recovered, anger rapidly rising up within him. “It’s my baby.” 

“It is.” Ziva shrugged, briefly touching her stomach. “But the real question is, how much is it worth to you?” 

Entirely unable to understand how any parent could be so callous, even one such as Ziva, Tony’s anger only flared all the more.

“More than someone like you could ever understand.” Tony growled. “How much?” 

“I think $5,000 should do it.” 

Having had his pockets forcefully emptied by the photographer before any photos could be taken, and the contents given to Gibbs for safe-keeping, Tony frowned in frustration and turned out his empty pockets. 

“I don’t have that kind of money on me.” He explained. “And I don’t have my checkbook.” 

“Give the money to your father. He will know how to get it to me.”


	40. Chapter 40

Despite knowing perfectly well that he should have made certain he was at least partially sober for the clandestine meeting he had arranged Ziva, Gibbs soon found to his great discomfort that he was nowhere even near to clear-headed as midnight rapidly approached. For despite his great protestations throughout the night that he would not drink to ever damn toast the couple received, as people were literally lining up to wish the newlyweds luck, Gibbs had found he just did not have it within him to behave so rudely and refuse to drink to those accolades. Nor, he regretted, did he have the willpower to resist the copious amounts of champagne that had come out after the cake had been sliced and dished out. 

“Jethro!” Ducky called out to him, halting his progress out the door. “Where…Where are you going?” 

Understanding that his long-time friend was far drunker then even himself, Gibbs held out a strong hand to steady the Scottish man as he slowly ambled forward with the beleaguered aid of his beloved assistant. 

“I’m going for fresh air.” Gibbs managed, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “You…You should go home…and sleep, Duck.” 

“Don’t worry.” A mostly sober Jimmy implored. “I’m taking him home now.” 

Clearly able to see that his friend couldn’t stand without the notable assistance of his assistant, and otherwise unable to assistant the younger man with the transport of his boss, Gibbs staggered a few steps away and wordlessly beckoned for a stubbornly-sober Tim to come and assist Jimmy. 

“Now, Jimmy.” Ducky scolded, very nearly dead on his feet. “There…There…is no need…for such…fussing.” 

“I’m taking you home.” Jimmy insisted, far firmer than Gibbs had ever heard him being. 

Before Ducky could so much as protest that he wished to stay, much less make a miscalculated move by trying to wrench free of his pseudo-son, Tim arrived and capture his other arm with a good-humored smile. 

“Sorry about this, Tim.” Jimmy apologized with a frown. 

“Don’t worry.” The jubilant groom assured. “This isn’t the first time I’ve done this tonight.” 

Already having had to ferry Abby’s inebriated uncle into a cab after he had shat himself during the toasts, alongside said man’s brother who had tried to start a brawl, Tim was all but an expert as he began to negotiate alongside Jimmy to get the Medical Examiner moving his feet toward the back exit where a small fleet of cabs awaited drunken guests. 

Waiting patiently until he was absolutely certain the trio had made it out the door without incident, as he didn’t want to have to worry about Ducky falling and getting hurt atop of his impending meeting with a woman from hell, Gibbs then accepted a ‘fortifying’ shot of vodka from a too-young-to-drink Sarah before making his way out of a closed-off-to-the-public side door. 

A bit too drunk to have fully anticipated just how cold it had grown in the space of a few hours, as well as briefly taken aback when he realized it was snowing, Gibbs groaned and hastily shoved his fingers into the pocket of his dress pants – the calloused digits barely protected as the wind began to pick up and assuage him with its icy blasts. 

Inwardly cursing Ziva’s very existence as he trudged through the slippery grass toward the shed he had earlier arranged to meet the rouge Israeli by, as well as ardently hoping that his boy wouldn’t notice his brief absence and investigate, Gibbs breathed in short breaths to keep the chill out of his throat. Because as healthy as he genuinely was, the fact still remained that he was growing older and he wasn’t exactly as young and spry as he used to be. 

It was with that thought it mind that he slowed his steps, not wishing to slip on the frosty grass and harm himself badly enough to warrant medical attention and suspicion from his son. Because as much as he hated to leave Tony in the dark about matters that so greatly concerned him, Gibbs knew such subterfuge was necessary for his child’s genuine well-being and peace of mind. 

It was only as he got a few feet away from the rendezvous point that Gibbs began to hear the yelling, the sound muffled on the quickly-rising wind but otherwise perfectly distinguishable by its Yiddish composition. 

A great concern quickly rising in his gut, as he had absolutely no idea what Ziva would do to one of the wedding guests should they have happened upon her hiding spot, Gibbs threw all caution to the wind and all but flew across the slippery grass to the shed – stumbling dangerously several times until, at last, he had arrived. 

What he saw upon arrival only made him wish he had not been so quick to be cautious. 

For red of face and ever just as dangerous as always, Ziva stood in front of Tony with a raised hand and screeched every sort of obscenity imaginable into his bleeding face. 

“Beast?!” The Israeli ranted, face twisted in rage. “You call me a beast!?” 

All but cowering against the rough wood of the shed, far too noble to put his hands on a woman, Tony raised his hands to shield his face from another blow and cried out in anguish as the next strike, instead, took him by surprise in the gut. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Gibbs growled, already advancing upon the culprit with deadly intent. 

Startled from delivering her third blow to her victim, Ziva quickly spun on her heel to investigate the interruption and all but growled when she discovered it was him who had intervened and stopped her assault. 

“Your agent forgets himself.” Ziva snapped, spitting at Tony’s feet. 

“You were supposed to leave him alone!” Gibbs barked. “That was part of our deal!” 

Using the distraction to slowly get himself away from the back of the shed wall, Tony yanked a handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket and held it up to his bleeding nose, the wounded expression on his face all but provoking Gibbs into a paternal-rage so strong it frightened him. 

“He stumbled across me!” Ziva hissed, wiping blood off the hand she had struck his son with. “And then he called me beast!” 

“You are a beast!” Gibbs snapped, rapidly putting himself between son and assaulter. 

Narrowing her eyes dangerously at such harsh words, Ziva stalked forward until she stood toe-to-toe with Gibbs and glowered openly up into his face. 

“You had best treat me kindly.” She cautioned. “I am not afraid to alter the deal again.” 

Despite having never once bowed down to the whims of terrorists, far too proud for such a feat, Gibbs found his resolve wavering as he thought of all the ways the Israeli might chose to get back at him and Tony – the fate of the unborn child in the woman’s belly of the utmost concern of his. 

“You came here for money, and I brought it.” Gibbs growled, reaching into his pocket and yanking out the thick wad of cash. “Take it and leave. Like we agreed.” 

Although it looked like the Israeli wanted to do nothing more than taunt him awhile longer, her common-sense seemed to win out as she soon reached for the bills with her still bloodied hand. But before her fingertips could so much as brush against the bank notes, much less her fingers collect them, Tony hand slapped her hand away hard enough to elicit a hiss of pain from his former girlfriend. 

“No!” The bleeding man snapped, this time slapping Gibbs’s hand. “You’re not paying her!” 

“Tony!” Gibbs exclaimed, more surprised at the strike than wounded. “This has nothing to do with you, go back inside.” 

But rather than obey the order like he usually would have, the battered man held his ground and refused to remove himself from the situation. 

“Nothing to do with me?!” Tony ranted, face turning bright red. “You’re fucking with my court-case, of course this is my business!” 

Not at all used to anyone screaming in his face, let alone his senior agent, Gibbs blinked in surprise and struggled to keep hold of his temper – not wishing to strike his son for want of emotional self-control.

“I’m not fucking with anything!” Gibbs defended. “I’m fixing things!” 

“By breaking the law!?” Tony scoffed, throwing up his hands. “Do you realize how long you could go to prison for something like this!?” 

Already having weighed the pros and cons against each other, as a person with a notable habit for doing so, Gibbs was more than just a little insulted as Tony asked such an insipid question. 

“You don’t need to worry about that.” He readily dismissed. “I have everything taken care of.” 

“You don’t!” Tony snapped, looking dangerously close to tears. “How is it going to look to the fucking court trying to convict me of visa fraud if my intended spouse disappears a week before!? A spouse who, by the way, accused me of spousal abuse!” Now nearly belligerent with anger, his face as red as ketchup, Tony growled and punched the side of the shed. “For fuck’s sake, Gibbs, what were you thinking? Did you really think you could trust her!?” 

“Tony – “ Gibbs began, all too late coming to his senses. 

“No.” Tony snapped. “Don’t.” 

And thus commanded, Tony spun on his heels and rapidly fled the scene, stubbornly ignoring Gibbs requests that he return and speak to him. 

“Well,” Ziva sniffed, “Now that he is gone, let us get back to business like adults.” 

“There isn’t going to be any business between us.” Gibbs suddenly decided. “I just altered the deal.”


	41. Chapter 41

After having spent a long five hours grading homework and midterm exams, Charles was fully prepared to crawl into his bed as the witching hour gradually settled over his neighborhood. That idea in mind, he meticulously marked off the proof he had been reviewing with an angry zero in the top-left corner, the effort said student had put into such work far more insulting to his field of study than it was truly aggravating. Thus finished, he then set aside the remaining 87 sheets of paper he had yet to work through, figuring a quiet Sunday morning would be more than adequate for seeing those neglected works completed. And, should push come to shove and he receive a myriad of complaints from impatient students longing to know how they had faired, well, Charles would just refer them to the portion of the syllabus which stated they ought not expect such impossible feats as tests graded within 24 hours. 

He was just setting aside his favorite grading pen, a skinny ballpoint with vivid red ink, when he heard a loud knocking sounding at his front door. Heaving a bereaved sigh at the noise, as he was greatly concerned that an errant child might have been dared into heckling the local neighborhood queer, Charles steeled himself for a confrontation and reluctantly made his way down the stairwell and to his front door.  
To say that he was more than just a little surprised when he cracked open the door and discovered a bedraggled Tony would have been a gross understatement.

“Tony!” Charles softly exclaimed, never one to become loud. “What are you doing here?”

Because as excited as he always was to see his boyfriend, which was quite so, the fact still remained that it was currently the middle of the night and said man had showed up without so much as a text or call beforehand to herald his approach. 

“I had a fight with Gibbs.” Tony explained, shivering heavily in his snow-dampened groomsman suit. 

Although normally the idea of inviting someone so…messy…into his home would have provoked within Charles a serious case of anxiety, such hesitancies were easily put on the proverbial backburner just as soon as he considered the fact that he did not have it within him to be so rude as to prevent his boyfriend entry to his house. 

“What was the fight about?” Charles inquired, moving forward to help his boyfriend out of his wet jacket. 

“He…He just likes to be in control of everything.” Tony supplied, his unusual lack of verbosity making it perfectly clear he wished to speak no more on the topic. 

Considerately taking his partner’s lead, Charles did not press on the matter as he wordlessly assisted his new houseguest out of his sweaty dress shirt and undershirt. But although Tony looked greatly relieved at the assistance, his green eyes half-closing in relief, the usually energetic agent was far too tired to offer any more assistance than the movement of his arms. 

“I’m sure that meddling comes from a good place.” Charles suggested, draping the garments across a kitchen chair to air-dry. “Shoes off.” 

Because as much as he adored his current boyfriend, there was no way in hell that Charles would ever allow something so disgusting as shoes into his house. For not only did they track in all the filth from outside, so to did they spread such disgustingness all throughout the area they traversed in. 

“I know that.” Tony agreed with a sigh, slowly shrugging his shoes off. “But that isn’t the point.” 

Understanding the brunette would not like to be pressed for details, and would surely prefer sharing his feeling on his own terms, Charles did not request any additional information as he steered his boyfriend into the kitchen chair near a heating vent. 

“You’re worked up.” He commiserated. “Can I make you some hot chocolate?” 

Despite thinking that some decaf tea would likely be the better option, given the lateness of the hour, Charles knew perfectly well that Tony would never go for so adult a beverage when there were more palatable options available. 

“No thanks.” Tony refused, burying his face in his hands. “I’m just exhausted.” 

“I suppose we’ll have to head up to bed then.” Charles offered. “Did you bring any dry clothes?” 

Because as much as he was willing to push himself into sharing a space so intimate, Charles simply didn’t have it within him to allow a still-damp body into his bed. 

“No.” Tony apologized. “I didn’t really anticipate ending up here, you know.” 

“You can wear something of mine.” Charles offered. “We’re about the same size.” 

Give or take, of course, a few inches of height disparity working in his favor. 

“Come along.” Charles directed.


	42. Chapter 42

After having spent a hellish childhood with absolutely nothing to call his own, technically not even his body, Charles found it more than just a little difficult to surrender a portion of his bed to another person – having once only had a musty army cot to call his own whilst his numerous sisters split two queen-sized amongst themselves. To surrender such regained control of his person and belongings was simply asking a lot, no matter if it was his boyfriend asking for such concessions. 

“I’m sorry you and your father had a row.” Charles expressed, trying not to wince as Tony understandably claimed one of the many pillows for his own. 

“Not as sorry as I am.” Tony grumbled, turning on his side to face him. 

Only narrowly resisting the urge to request that his boyfriend wash his face before snuggling into his pillows, the cases of such being very expensive and difficult to wash, Charles tentatively reached out a hand and comfortingly laid it atop the distressed agent’s shoulder. 

“Do you two fight often?” 

Having expected a frown in response to the query, or perhaps a scowl, Charles was more than just a little startled when Tony chuckled. 

“Constantly.” He assured. “Just not like this.” 

Not at all privy to the concept of not being constantly at war with one’s parents, as he was very much the proverbial scapegoat growing up, Charles was thoroughly confused as to how a person could be so casual when mentioning discord between themselves and their parents. For it seemed, in his past, that not even a full day could go by without him being blamed for some inconvenience of calamity – either by his own manmade failure or as the result of some heinous sin. 

“Things will be better in the morning.” Charles avowed, knowing perfectly well that great anger was just as quickly dissipated. “In the morning, you two will have forgotten all about this.” 

Rather than politely dispute his claims with a verbal answer, Tony snorted in a disgusting fashion and rolled unto his back to stare up at the ceiling. 

“You don’t think I was in the wrong, do you?” He worried, a concerned frown playing at his lips. “He was fraternizing with Ziva, after all.” 

Finally being clued into as to what their row was about, but otherwise having no real details, Charles shooed away his polite reserve and delved deeper into the matter. 

“How do you mean?” 

Because as insipid as the question was, he knowing full-well what the word fraternization entailed, there was still a wide range of meaning the word could take on.

“He was bribing Ziva.” Tony admitted, the confession almost a whisper. “We could both be arrested for that.” 

Not at all liking such a distasteful thought, as he had slowly grown to care for the man in question, Charles frowned and fisted up a bit of his black comforter up in his hand. 

“He meant well, Tony.” He offered. “And it shows how much he cared that he willing to risk prison for you.” 

“I understand that, I do.” Tony insisted. “But he can’t just keep doing this vigilante shit, Charles. It’s going to get him killed.” 

Flinching at the unnecessary vulgarity, as such words seldom left his mouth, Charles shook his head and again placed a soothing hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. 

“Your father is a marine, Tony.” He comforted. “It would take more than a crazy woman to kill him.” 

“Ziva is a fucking devil.” His boyfriend refuted, shivering at the declaration. “And Gibbs isn’t immortal.”

“Tony – “ 

“He may have just fucked up my case.” 

Resolving later to speak to his boyfriend about the copious usage of such profanity, the likes of which he found neither necessary nor useful, Charles sighed and once again resumed trying to soothe his partner. '

“I’m sure your father knew what he was doing.” 

“But he doesn’t, Charles!” Tony loudly cried, startling him. “He doesn’t know Ziva like I do. The moment one of us makes her angry, she’s going to say ‘fuck it,’ and go crying to the court again about how much I beat her.” 

Although it gave him no pleasure to ask such a question, Charles found he could not keep it contained. 

“Did you?” 

Startled into silence at the innocent inquiry, Tony shoved the hand of his shoulder and turned on his side once to glare at him. 

“How can you even ask that?” He demanded, more wounded than angry. “What kind of man do you think I am?” 

“I’ve seen all sorts of men hit women, Tony.” Charles countered. “Even the ‘kind’ ones.” 

A dark expression crossing his face as he took in the hidden meaning behind those words, Tony’s annoyance quickly fled and was replaced, once more, with exhaustion. 

“I’ve never laid a hand on her or any woman, Charles.” He avowed. “Ziva bashed my head in with a tire-iron and I still never touched her.” 

Though Charles knew all-too-well how easily a lie could be concealed, one look in Tony’s eyes had him as close to convinced as he was ever going to get. 

“I believe you.” 

“Thank you.” Tony expressed, snatching up his hand beneath the covers. 

As they stayed like that for quite some time, neither one of them saying a world, Charles cursed himself for finding it necessary to interrupt such peacefulness. 

“Have you found out if the baby is yours?” 

“Of course its mine.” Tony insisted. “Ziva may be a lot of things, but she’s not someone who just…sleeps around.” 

“You might want to find out for sure.” Charles needled, unwilling to let the matter drop. 

For as much as he adored Tony, and wished to enjoy a long relationship with him, the emergence of an unplanned child in his life was an absolute deal-breaker for Charles. Because if long years of therapy had taught him anything, it was that he was far too damaged to ever even consider adopting a child. 

“Daisy is working on it.” Tony promised, clearly trying to brush away that matter. 

“This isn’t something you can just wing, Tony.” Charles cautioned. “I worry that you’re not taking this as seriously as you should.” 

Looking wounded at the accusation, and subsequently provoking within Charles a copious amount of guilt, Tony yanked the blankets up to his chin and looked ready to say something retaliatory. But at the last moment, taking a deep breath, he seemed to recover well enough to remain calm when responding. 

“I am taking this seriously. I promise.” 

“Good.” Charles sighed, his own exhaustion creeping in.


	43. Chapter 43

Despite having previously had no idea as to how life at work could get any more vexing and irritating than it already was, given that the Director still seemed to have it out for him after their little tizzy in the bullpen, Gibbs was soon disabused of his cluelessness after having been forced to endure a good two weeks of his son being nothing but cordial with him whilst at work. Because, having once thought that nothing could be worse than said man’s previous sulkiness prior to his coming out, Gibbs had been utterly unprepared to find that the cool apathy greeting him every day was far worse than any emotional outbursts he had witnessed before. God help him, Gibbs was even beginning to see why his angry stonewalling had so upset his ex-wives. 

And, worst yet, neither Abby nor Ducky were currently onsite to intervene and play peacemaker – the Medical Examiner currently away at a two-day conference and the Forensics Expert in question currently only two weeks into her generous three-week honeymoon in Romania with Tim. Which left him with only Kate for companionship – although the stressed out soon-to-be-bride could hardly be considered companionable at the moment. 

“No, Seamus,” The irritated agent was now hissing into her personal phone, “We’re not having bagpiped at the reception – were not having bagpipes at all!” 

Seeing as it was the woman’s lunch-hour, and that they had otherwise received no new cases that morning, Gibbs let the personal call go unreprimanded as he sipped at his coffee and willed himself not to get involved in whatever argument Kate was currently having when he heard the man on the other line semi-affectionately call her a domineering-cunt. Because, at the end of the day, whether he liked that word or not, his agent seemed to take no great exception to the use of such a vulgar phrase. 

Thus assured that there wouldn’t be any Irish asses in need of a thorough kicking that day, and more than just a little grateful as a result, Gibbs kicked up his feet unto his desk and pulled out his cellphone to inquire into whether or not Abby was having fun on her honeymoon – having refrained from doing so up until that moment with the wizened understanding that the girl in question would have previously been far too busy doing other things before then to want to pause and answer a text from her boss. 

But before he could so much as begin his text to Abby, much less send it off, Gibbs’s attention was inadvertently stolen by the sight of Tony angrily stuffing his own cellphone into one of his desk-drawers. Only marginally relieved that it had not been a call to upset his boy, as that inarguably meant it was not the nefarious Ziva trying to contact him, Gibbs still scowled as he tried to work out for himself who could be the cause of such irritation in the normally jovial Tony. 

His first thought, of course, centered around Senior – figuring it to be that time of year in which that failure of a human either announced a new bride or questionable ‘business’ venture. But whilst such frequent occurrences did, in fat, manage to aggravate his boy like nothing else quite could, those unwelcomed announcements were meant with more of an irritated disappointed rather than the wounded betrayal Tony was currently displaying. 

“Is Senior getting married again?” Gibbs grunted, reluctantly playing stupid. 

“No.” Tony answered curtly, perfectly professional yet aloof.

Promptly stymied, as he honestly couldn’t reprimand his agent for an act of insubordination that simply didn’t exist, yet still aggravated all the same by the underserved coldness he felt needed addressed, Gibbs harshly gritted his teeth and narrowly fought off the urge to put the petulant shit over his knee right then and there. 

It was only pity which stilled his hands and anger in the end; the sight of his distressed child once more pulling out his phone and looking longingly at the screen provoking within him an awkward amount of pity and compassion. 

“Is everything – “ 

“I’m going on my lunch.” Tony cut him off, suddenly climbing to his feet. 

Unable to refuse the agent his lunch, as Kate’s was very nearly over and there were no new cases, Gibbs scowled and clenched his fists atop his lap – struggling not to lose his temper at his boy’s very pointed exclusion of him. 

In the end, it was a losing battle – Gibbs’s temper, at long last, finally getting the best of him and inciting him into morally-questionable actions. 

“Off to lunch, boss?” Kate innocently inquired, at long last putting her phone aside. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Gibbs evaded. 

Leaving the brunette to shrug of his curt answer, as well as leaving her charge for next half-hour so, Gibbs then stomped away from his desk – the need for haste directing the speed at which he walked rather than his anger. 

“DiNozzo!” Gibbs barked, all but jumping into the elevator seconds after him. 

“Something I can do for you, Boss?” The tall agent questioned, tersely poking at the elevator buttons. 

Angrily slamming the emergency stop button just as soon as the elevator started, and inadvertently sending the unexpecting Tony flying into the wall, Gibbs moved to steady his agent only to be rudely shrugged off and glowered at. 

“When is your meeting with Flossy tomorrow?” Gibbs interrogated, not knowing any better way to start a conversation. 

But rather than receive a satisfactory answer, much less any answer, Tony scowled and shrugged. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Unfamiliar with such attitude from anyone, especially his own boy, Gibbs blinked in disbelief at such a curt and dismissive response. 

“Why wouldn’t I worry about it?” He growled, slapping Tony’s hand away from the elevator buttons. 

“Because you’re not invited.” Tony prompted informed, pushing past a stunned Gibbs to restart the elevator. 

“What do you mean?” Gibbs barked. “Why wouldn’t I be invited?” 

Because even with Tony being as angry as he was, Gibbs couldn’t fathom any scenario in which the boy wouldn’t want him with in such a scenario. 

“Because you don’t need any more ammunition for your meddling.” 

“Meddling?” Gibbs stiffened. “Is that what this is about? You’re mad about my meddling?” 

“Yes!” Tony snapped. “I’m not a child, Gibbs, or an idiot! I can actually handle things without you swooping in and doing vigilante!”

More wounded than he cared to admit at having his help so disparaged, Gibbs frowned and tried not to retaliate with anger. 

“I was helping.” Gibbs asserted, taking care to keep his voice even. 

“You were controlling.” Tony returned, pushing past him to leave the elevator.


	44. Chapter 44

Although Tony had been given an oversized cup of hot chocolate to sip on, a perfect companion for the chocolate-chip cookie his lawyer had pair with it, the atmosphere in the office Tony was currently seated in was more than just a little chilly after he had debriefed Flossy of all the mischief his father had gotten him into. 

“I do hope you’ve already spoken to Gibbs about refraining from such behavior in the future, Tony.” The unamused blonde cautioned, the usual warmth in her expressive eyes nowhere to be seen. “This is a large enough fire to put out, we don’t need any others atop of it.” 

Not at all familiar with such sternness where regarded the soft-spoken newlywed, Tony turned to Hershel for assistance only to be met with a pitying shake of his head. 

“I am afraid my Flossy is correct, Tony.” The judge declared. “Your father’s meddling will not be looked upon favorably by the courts.” 

Despite having already known that Gibbs’s reckless interventions would not have been well-received by the courts, Tony still stiffened at the magistrate’s somber tones, gradually coming to the realization that he had, perhaps, failed to take in the magnitude of such unhelpful vigilantism – so familiar with such behavior, was he, that the ramifications of such were utterly lost on him. 

“How concerned should I be?” Tony inquired, a painful knot of anxiety twisting up his stomach. 

“If I were you,” Advised the Judge, “I would be very concerned. Courts do not take lightly acts of bribery or subterfuge.” 

Flinching at the subtle accusation that he had been a willing party in such acts, Tony shook his head and set aside his steaming beverage – missing the comfort its warmth brought almost immediately. 

“I wasn’t aware of my father’s interference.” Tony insisted. “Not until I stumbled across him and Ziva.” 

“That is all very well, Tony.” Flossy patronized. “But the courts aren’t like to believe you on that matter.” 

Not at all enjoying the prospect of being found a liar by anyone, it took great restraint on Tony’s part to keep from vehemently defending his honor to those seated within the small confines of the law office. 

“What should we do then?” Tony questioned, shifted uncomfortably in his sheet. “What’s our plan?” 

“Our plan is to find you an alibi for that night in question.” Hershel began. “You cannot be accused of bribery and intimidation if you were dancing with guests all night.” 

“You’d have me lie?” 

Although in his line of work such underhanded methods were often required, in his personal life Tony preferred to be as honest as kindness and human decency allowed. And, as a result, the thought of blatantly lying, especially under oath, plagued him to no end. 

“I’d have you deflect.” Flossy corrected, proving herself every bit the lawyer. “It is no great lie to say you were dancing all night – I’ve already collaborated such with several different guests, most of whom say you never left the barn all night.” 

Despite knowing that to be patently untrue, having several times left the barn for fresh air alone, Tony bit back his reservations about deceitfulness and allowed himself to accept that a lie that did more harm than good was not, by any means, indicative of a corrupted nature. 

“What if the courts don’t believe me?” Tony challenged, unwilling to believe any matter involving Ziva so easily solved. 

“That woman has already proven herself a liar numerous times.” Hershel provided, more blasé than professional. 

While he knew all-too-well that the Israeli in question was an expert liar, Tony found it nearly impossible to believe that such a carefully hidden character flaw could be so easily proven to absolute strangers. 

“We have solid proof.” Flossy asserted, clearly having caught wind of his doubt. “We have all the recorded phone-calls your neighbors made to the police, as well as the police-report the night that beast took a tire-iron to your head.” Pausing there a moment to recompose herself, the mentioning of any sort of physical abuse an obvious point of bitterness for her, the pretty lawyer took several calming breaths before moving on. “We have also documentation on her illegal dalliances in the Gaza Strip, Tony. That, if anything, should serve to show the court just how…how…unpleasant her nature is.” 

Greatly relieved at the news that his lawyer finally had something solid against Ziva, up until that moment having had to rely only on the promises to secure such information, Tony was even able to laugh at the way Flossy’s sweet nature prevented her from saying anything harsh or vulgar against his assaulter – even though she so very clearly wished to do so. 

“Than do I really need to worry at all?” He queried, all tension and anxiety gradually fleeing his body. 

There then settled an awkward silence over the room so profound that Tony began to fear he had somehow unintentionally offended the newlyweds by jokingly questioning their earlier requests that he be cautious and concerned for his future trial.

“While you most certainly still need to be concerned about your upcoming trial, there is, perhaps, a more concerning matter you should preoccupy yourself with.” Hershel finally spoke, recovering first. 

“What…What do you mean?” Tony demanded, the former knot within his stomach returning with an angry and violent vengeance. “What could be more important than – “

“The baby is yours, Tony.” Flossy blurted, obviously unable to bear such a secret any longer. “DNA tests have confirmed it.” 

Only having steeled himself to hear that he was still liable to be charged for visa fraud, as such a claim would obviously be very difficult to disprove given the lack of tangible evidence, Tony jerked ungracefully in his seat at the news and inadvertently sent his mug of hot chocolate crashing to the crooked floorboards below. 

Quickly falling to his knees to mitigate the damage, and banging his head quite sharply on the desk as a result, Tony blinked several times to clear his watering eyes and refused to lift his gaze from the broken shards of glass – afraid that if he did so, the looks of pitying compassion in the newlywed’s eyes would push him over the edge into a full-fledged panic attack. 

“Oh, Tony.” Flossy crooned, dropping to her knees beside him. “I shouldn’t have been so blunt. I’m sorry.” 

Still unable to meet her gaze, Tony remained hunched over the glass as he struggled to channel breath into his lungs – the revelation itself far too upsetting to have even been partially mitigated by a more eloquent delivery. 

“Are you certain?” Tony breathed, his question a whisper. “Absolutely certain?” 

“Yes.” Hershel confirmed, somber yet compassionate. 

No longer able to remain upright at such a confident assurance, Tony sank to the ground and leaned against the wall for support, his lungs rapidly becoming tighter with each passing second. And so, desperate to stave off a fit of anxiety, he buried his face in his knees, taking several calming breaths as he tried not to lose control of his breathing. 

“Please, Tony, you need to pull yourself together.” Flossy implored, lying a gentle hand upon his shoulder. “We have strategies we need to discuss.” 

“Strategies?” Tony scoffed, finally recovering well enough to speak. “What strategies? That woman is going to take off with my baby the first chance she gets.” 

“Not if she’s remanded into custody first.” Hershel corrected.


	45. Chapter 45

Despite having come to a reluctant understanding that his boyfriend was nowhere near as fastidious about cleanliness as was he, Charles soon found that after a solid two weeks of cohabitation, he could no longer tolerate the inexcusable messes his partner was prone to leaving in his wake. For not only was said agent wont to leave crumbs atop the toaster whenever he fixed himself some breakfast, so too did that slovenly man leave his sink splattered with a myriad of water droplets – his boyfriend clearly far too busy to take a paper towel after the rouge droplets. And though Charles understood that he must needs give his beau a certain amount of leeway, the easy-going brunette currently a great amount of stress lately, the fact that said man still persisted in leaving his socks lying about the house at random irked him beyond reason – as he had repeatedly begged his partner not to allow such a foul habit to continue. 

He was stood staring at just such a foul specimen, the evidence carelessly tucked away into the folds of the sofa, when his boyfriend returned – an hour later than stipulated and with nary a smile nor greeting as he morosely sunk into the leather armchair without first making certain his clothing was free of dust or any other outside debris. 

Letter such an egregious matter slide, at least for the moment as there were very clearly far more pressing matters to attend to, Charles allowed himself the rare privilege of allowing a mess to go momentarily uncleaned as he sank himself down unto the ottoman at the foot of the recliner and laid a hand on his partner’s knee. 

“Was your meeting so terrible?” He politely inquired, wondering if perhaps a cup or two of hot chocolate was in order. 

“Not entirely.” Tony managed, wearily closing his eyes. 

“Then why so somber?” Charles inquired. “It’s not like you.” 

If anything, Charles had expected a certain air of forced nonchalance from his boyfriend, the brief time-lapse of their relationship having been more than adequate enough time to ensure him of the fact that his partner was seldom ever serious or somber – even when the situation, to most, would warrant such emotions. 

“I found out Ziva’s baby is mine.” Tony confessed, his voice full of anxiety and apprehension. 

Having spent the last several days ardently wishing that such a scenario would not be so, himself having lost the desire for children whilst he was not yet of double-digit age, Charles cringed inwardly at the revelation but otherwise made no rude outbursts – his early training on the compound all but preventing him from giving into such childish behavior. 

“A few days ago, you seemed more than happy enough to think yourself a father.” Charles softly accused, inwardly bristling at the prospect all the while. “What has changed?” 

“Nothing has changed.” Tony insisted, beginning to look several years older than he truly was. “It’s only that it’s become ‘real’ now.” 

Once more bristling at the latest example of his boyfriend’s inability to take anything seriously until it was far too late for such an action to have any real effect or use, Charles clamped down hard on his tongue to keep from issuing a reprimand and swallowed the resultant blood with an air of resentment. 

“It doesn’t need to be real.” Charles asserted instead, his tongue still coated with a thin layer of blood. “You could put the baby up for adoption.” 

It was, he thought, the best option for all parties involved. For not only was the mother of this baby currently a wanted-criminal in her own home country, as well as several other adjoining nations, so too was the father criminally immature and underprepared to take on the care of a needy infant. 

“Why would I do that?!” Tony snapped, all too oblivious to the good-reasoning behind his boyfriend’s advice. 

“Because neither one of you is ready to be a parent.” Charles stated calmly, diplomatically choosing to ignore his boyfriend’s outburst. 

“Are…Are you saying I’m an unfit parent?” Tony demanded, a very wounded expression taking over his face. 

Even though Charles most certainly thought the agent unfit to be a parent, is general nonchalance and lack of seriousness a poignant parental flaw, he kept mum on such a matter and worked to keep the peace instead. 

“No.” Charles fibbed, the lie sour in his stomach. “I’m saying you’re just not ready to have a baby to care for. And,” He added, “Quite frankly, neither am I.”

It was a disbelieving look he received in response to that statement, a wounded expression that quickly turned to a petulant glare the longer they both remained silent. And, never one to enjoy quarreling with anyone, his own upbringing having taught him that arguments lead to blows, Charles stiffened and prepared for the worst. 

“It’s not secret that I never wanted children, Tony.” He defended. “I was upfront about that matter from the beginning.” 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want them.” Tony needlessly pointed out, his tone of voice more bitter than ever before. 

Not knowing what to say to that, and still wishing to avoid a nasty argument, Charles simply opted for keeping silent and moved to tidy up the mess he had been working on earlier when Tony had arrived home later than expected. He started first with the crumbs, the errant little nuisances being quickly swept off the coffee-table with a well-practiced hand as he sought to keep claim of his temper. It was only as he began to collect the lazily-abandoned socks that his partner spoke again – the words and tone of his words depleting whatever patience he had. 

“Why do you do that?” Tony demanded, his terse tone causing Charles to stiffen. 

“Clean?” Charles challenged. 

The condescension not at all lost on him, Tony scowled and rolled his eyes. 

“No.” He hissed. “I meant the stonewalling. Why don’t you ever just say what you’re thinking? It’s okay to argue.” 

Shaking his head at such staunch ridiculousness, as fighting only ever lead to hurt feelings, Charles snorted and continued to collect the socks. 

“Fighting is for children.” 

“It’s not.” Tony argued. “Passive-aggression is.” 

“I’m not being passive-aggressive, Anthony. I’m being well-mannered.” 

Because if life on the compound had taught him anything, other than the Bible, it was good manners – such lessons heartily enforced via the rod. 

“You’re stonewalling me!” Tony snapped, slamming a fist down unto his armrest. 

“I’m not.” Charles refuted, voice trembling with barely concealed rage. “But, if I was, it would only be because you tend to ignore everything I say.” 

And it was no mere exaggeration he made either, for the brunette in question was just as quick to forget an instruction as he was to replicate it – oftentimes making several of the same mistake within a 24-hour period. 

“How so?” Tony challenged. 

“You’re messy.” Charles accused. “Even when I’ve repeatedly asked you not to be.” 

And such a flaw didn’t just stop at the socks and crumbs either, Charles bitterly reflected, thinking over the myriad of messes his partner had been leaving for him to clean over the last several weeks. 

“It this about the crumbs on the toast?” Tony scoffed. “Is that why you’ve been so testy.” 

“It’s not just the crumbs!” Charles growled, at his wits end. 

“Why didn’t you just say something!?” Tony demanded, entirely clueless. “I can’t read your mind, you know!” 

“Because I shouldn’t have to tell a grown man how to clean up after himself!” 

God help him, even his youngest toddler of a sister had known how to clean up after herself by the time he ran off – the three-year-old in question far more tidy than even those three times her age. 

“And I don’t want that baby, either.” Charles added, getting the most pressing point. 

“Charles – “ 

Unable to meet his partner’s eyes, yet unable to let the matter go now that it was out in the open, Charles shook his head and forced himself to keep speaking. 

“You asked me to be candid, Tony.”

“You’re asking me to chose between you and the baby.” Tony accused, his words a condemnation. 

And though it was not a question, Charles answered anyways. 

“Yes.”


	46. Chapter 46

Although he hated himself for being so distinctly selfish, a terrible character-flaw he wished never to ascribe to his person, Tony pulled out his cellphone and reluctantly dialed Abby, trying his hardest not to shiver too violently in his car lest his discomfort make itself known via his teeth-chattering

“Tony?” 

Despite his having dialed Abby specially, it was Tim’s voice that greeted him on the other end – disappointing him to no small degree as it was the more feminine voice he had been hoping to hear. Bur rather than convey that to Tim, and thus run the risk of losing a good friend, Tony kept mum on his preference and settled for going through the usual pleasantries first. 

“Hey, McHusband.” Tony greeted. “How was Romania?” 

“Great.” Tim answered, the word caught on the edge of a yawn. “We’re a bit jet-legged though, to be honest.” 

Though he understood perfectly well that Tim’s character would not allow for the man to make a thinly-veiled suggestion that he wished not to be bothered, Tony’s anxiety was rapidly proving itself desperate to convince him that such an innocent remark was truly underhanded in nature. 

“I’m sure.” Tony readily agreed, sweaty and light-headed. “Is…is Abby there?” 

“Abby is…kind of busy right now.” Tim evaded, sounding very exhausted and tense. 

It was only then, when an awkward silence thereafter erupted, that Tony thought he could hear the slightest (yet distinct) sounds of someone vomiting in the background – the faint splashes of water echoing in response to some garish gagging and heaving causing his own stomach to become slightly upset.

“Is she alright?” Tony demanded, concern for his sister-figure flooding into his person. 

“She’s fine.” Tim insisted, the promise quick but sincere. “It’s just…we stopped for food on the drive back from the airport and…well, I don’t think it’s agreeing with her all too much.” 

Having several times in the past born witness to Tim shoveling all manner of horrific food-combinations down his throat in his pre-diet days, the worst of which was comprised of chocolate sauce drizzled heartily atop potato chips, Tony found he needn’t even bother inquiring as to why such substandard food hadn’t upset the book-enthusiast’s stomach as well. 

“Has she taken anything for it?” Tony fussed. 

“I tried giving her Pepto-Bismol,” McGee informed, “But the smell only upset her stomach even more.” 

Cringing as he heard a particular noisy upheaval in the background, as well as gagging a bit in unison, Tony shook his head and tried to selfishly cancel out such disgusting sounds. 

“Maybe try some Sprite of Ginger-Ale.” Tony advised.

“I would, but there’s none in the house.” Tim sighed, his words nearly inaudible as Abby began to dry-heave. “And I don’t want to leave her alone like this.” 

Not at all surprised to hear that there was no such beverage in McGee’s house, as Abby strictly only drank Caff-Pow and Tim his sugar-free tree, Tony stuck his keys into the ignition of his car and effortlessly brought it into life. 

“I’ll bring some over.” Tony declared, already slipping on his seatbelt. 

“Don’t you have a meeting with your lawyer?” Tim pressed, forgetting all about the concept of time-zones in his jet-legged stupor. 

“Tim, it’s three in the afternoon.” He gently reminded. “The meeting is over.” 

And, though he had not meant for such a thing to happen, the sheer exhaustion Tony had been feeling in the last several hours effortless coerced itself into coating his words with more somberness than he had intended. 

“Was it that bad?” Tim worried. 

Seeing no way in which he might easily talk himself out of such a personal line of topic, and far too exhausted to concoct even a semi-plausible lie, Tony settled for broke and decided to come clean to the jet-legged man – his trust in said person having only increased after the way said man had reacted to his coming out. 

“We had a bit of a fight.” Tony admitted, cranking up the heat. 

“With your lawyer?” Tim wondered, understandably shocked at the concept. 

Seeing as how it was an easy mistake, as Tony had not been specific, he bit back an annoyed sigh before answering. 

“No.” He frowned. “With Charles.” 

“Oh.” Tim intoned, full of genuine sympathy. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” 

Although he was pleased beyond reason that he had not needed to ask, Tony still found that he had to be absolutely certain he was wanted before accepting the offer. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

Because even if the McGee’s were his two best friend’s in the world, the fact still remained that they had only just returned from their honeymoon. 

“It’s not like you’re going to go to Gibbs, is it?” Tim reasoned, not unkindly. “And besides, Abby and I have been itching to finish up Crash Bandicoot with you.” 

Far too excited at the prospect of a game-night with his good friends to feel any real concern as to how McGee knew he was currently quarreling with their boss, Tony pulled his car out from the curb and began to move in the direction of the nearest store. 

“I’ll pick up some popcorn, too.” He decided. 

“Get – “ 

“Extra butter. Yeah, Tim, I know.” Tony grinned. “Although I don’t think that kind of food is a part of your diet.” 

“I’m married now.” Tim easily retorted. “I can get as fat as I want to again.” 

And though he wasn’t quite certain, Tony could have sworn he heard an amused giggle from Abby before he hung up.


	47. Chapter 47

Seeing as how both McGee’s had been made to expect his visit, Tony guiltlessly let himself inside the cozy house the newlyweds had bought whilst still dating and idly made his way to the master-bathroom with a cold Sprite in hand – his steps, while careful, quite hurried as he worked to play his part in healing the much-beloved Abby. Because as lousy as he, himself, was currently feeling, those rotten emotions within him were absolutely nonconsequential to him at the moment when he considered the state discomfort his ‘sister’ was currently in. 

That in mind, Tony rapped only once on the bathroom door before letting himself in, easily justifying such rudeness with the argument that both McGee’s had seen him just as sick two Halloweens ago when Kate had dared him to down a whole package of Candy-Corn in under a minute. 

“Are you alright, Abbs?” Tony pressed, wincing at the sight before him. 

Because whilst the goth-girl in question was currently no longer barfing her guts out, she was quite pitifully sprawled out atop the cool tiles of the bathroom floor with a damp rag pressed to her forehead as sweat beads dripped down her surprisingly make-up free face. 

“I stopped dry-heaving a few minutes ago.” The newlywed grimaced. 

Quickly stripping off his jacket, Tony placed the garment under his friend’s head for comfort-purposes and sank down unto the tiles beside her. 

“Where is Tim?” He demanded, having seen neither hide no hair of the man. 

Flinching at his aggravated tone, Abby grimaced and turned a faint shade of pink. 

“He’s in the shower.” She answered, making the words sound like a confession. “I…may have vomited on him.” 

Wincing in sympathy for the both of them, though who the greater portion of such empathy went to he could not say, Tony scooped up Abby’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

“Oh, Abbs.” He sighed. “You always did have lousy aim.” 

Eager to prove such a truthful statement to be a lie, the forensic-expert jabbed him in the ribs with two sharp fingers before crawling over to him and putting her head in his lap. 

“Are you really going to spend the night?” She inquired, a delighted smile brightening her flushed face. 

Relieved that the prospect of a slumber-party was so well-met by both parties, Tony sighed in relief and began to card his fingers through Abby’s loose hair. 

“If that’s alright with you.” 

“Don’t be silly.” Abby scolded. “Of course it is!” 

“Thank God.” Tony mumbled, leaning heavily against the bathroom wall. 

Despite having not wanted the remark to go heard, Abby narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the utterance and raised an inquiring brow up at him. 

“What’s going on, Tony?” She interrogated. “Are you and Gibbs fighting again? Because he called me earlier and he seemed a bit…off. And he’s only ever that way when you two fight.” 

More flattered than he cared to admit at the concept of Gibbs being worked-up about their fight, and feeling slightly guilty as a result, Tony shook his head and tried not to feel too sorry for himself. 

“Yeah, Abbs. We’re fighting.” 

“About what?” Abby drilled. “Is it about Ziva again?” 

Still unable to hear that name without cringing, Tony recoiled a bit and received an apologetic smile in return. 

“Tell you what, Abbs. You tell me your secret, and I’ll tell you mine.” 

Blue eyes going wide at the insinuation behind the words, and her mouth puckering up into a pout as she realized he already knew, Abby crossed her arms across her chest and heaved a very dramatic sigh. 

“How did you know?” 

“You didn’t drink at your reception.” Tony pointed out. “Also, you just admitted to throwing up on Tim.” 

“Speak of the devil.” Abby muttered, glancing at the door. “I do believe my husband has returned.” 

Walking in the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist to preserve his modesty, Tim raised a brow at the scene before him but otherwise raised to complaints – his familiarity with the sibling-relationship dynamic betwixt his wife and colleague by now old news in his books. 

“You’re getting a bit chummy with my wife, don’t you think?” Tim teased, indulgently making use of any opportunity to refer to Abby as his wife. 

“No time for jokes, McStud.” Abby grinned. “He’s figured it out.” 

“Already?” Tim exclaimed, settling himself down atop the rim of the tub. 

“Yup.” Tony grinned. “Congrats, McDaddy.” 

Never one to enjoy all the jokes made at the expense of his last name, Tim rolled his eyes and tried a very effective new tactic to stop such a practice. 

“You know, that’s what Abby calls me in the bedroo – “ 

“Okay, yuck.” Tony grimaced. 

Not even having the decency to deny such a practice, whether it was true or not, Abby chuckled shamelessly before shushing her husband’s louder laughs. 

“Tim, hush. It’s Tony’s turn to share now.” 

“Oh!” Tim exclaimed, excitement lighting up his face. “You’re going to tell her?” 

“I would, if you’d let me.” Tony teased. 

By now having taken all she was going to take of being left in the dark, Abby poked his ribs again and slapped at Tim’s knee to keep his quiet. 

“Tell me what?! What could you have told my husband that you didn’t want to tell me first?” Turning to McGee, she then playfully added. “Are you already keeping secrets from me?” 

“Secrets like the bag of chocolates you have stashed away in your box of tampons?” 

This time having the decency to blush, Abby giggled and smiled cheekily at her souse. 

“Touché.” 

“I know you better than you think.” Tim grinned, a lustful look in his eyes. 

“Ditto.” Abby added, looking hungrily at his naked chest. 

Before either part of the couple had time to realize just how cock-blocking his presence could be, Tony quickly intervened. 

“Okay, before you two lovebirds get to doing any straight-people stuff, I’m just going to come out and say it – I’m gay.” 

Having already heard the declaration weeks ago, Tim simply yawned as Abby blinked several times in a desperate attempt to comprehend the words. 

“Like… with a man?” 

“Yes.” Tony sighed. “With a man, Abby.” 

Wondering if that was a question all straight people were going to ask him from now on, Tony briefly considered the idea of buying a shirt that would go to work doing such explaining for him. 

“What kind of man?” Abby drilled. “Like…a bear, a jock, a circuit boy, a gay-lister?” 

Seeing as Abby was eerily similar to her spouse in personality, Tony was hardly surprised that the girl in question was taking the matter so easily. 

“Charles has to be a gay-lister.” Tim decided. 

Sitting upright at that remark, Abby turned to Tony with a murderous look in her eyes. 

“Who the hell is Charles!?” She cried. “Do you have a boyfriend, Tony?!” 

“Relax, Abbs. We haven’t been dating that long.” 

Refusing to calmly accept the fact that she had been kept in the dark about such an important facet of his life, Abby frowned and swatted his shoulder. 

“You need to invite him over for supper.” She ordered. 

Having once initially planned to do just that, Tony frowned himself and tried not to feel too wounded as he realized that would likely never happen. 

“It might not be for a while, Abbs. We had a fight.” 

“Oh, Tony.” Abby crooned, wrapping her arms about his neck. “You’ve had such a long year, haven’t you?” 

“Yeah.” Tony agreed, resting his head on her shoulder. “I have.” 

Squeezing him tightly, as if by that act along she could make everything right in his world, Abby smoothed his hair and murmured her response. 

“We’ll make it all better.” She avowed, kissing his temple. “Your show-queen ass will be back to normal in no time.” 

Snorting indignantly at such presumption, Tony gently pulled away and rolled his eyes at her. 

“I am not a show-queen, Abagail.” 

“Please.” Abby snorted. “You’re like one step away from being a twink.” 

And though he glared most heartily at her, Abby simply smiled and shrugged her shoulders, sharing a knowing look with her husband. 

“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” 

“I suppose you are.” Tony sighed, far too tired to argue against the truth. 

“Great.” Abby squealed. “That means Tim owes me a foot-rub.” 

“You bet on this?” Tony scoffed, more amused than annoyed. 

Holding up his hands in a gesture of good-will, Tim nodded and frowned apologetically. 

“We made that bet a long time ago.” He promised. “Before I knew for sure.” 

“You’re gaydar is remarkably accurate.” Tony mumbled, somewhat impressed and annoyed at the same time. “But Abby, are you really not all that surprised either?” 

Pulling away from him to give him a disbelieving look, one that easily conveyed he was stupid just for asking it, Abby rolled her eyes and shook her head. 

“I’d have more surprised if you started wearing track suits.” 

“That will literally never happen.” Tony promised. 

“See what I mean?” Abby asked Tim. “He’s a total show-queen.” 

Though he was having quite a good-time with his friends being so open, Tony resolved to put an end to such a frank discussion before talk of sexual-positions came up – neither wanting to share his own preferences nor hear of his fake-sister’s. 

“I’m going to be a murderer soon, too, if we don’t get up off this floor and have something to eat.” He declared, clutching his stomach for emphasis. 

“Right.” Tim agreed, jumping off the tub-rim to help his wife up. 

“No beer though.” Abby stipulated. “If either of you opens one, I’m going to throw up on you.”


	48. Chapter 48

Cuddled up the sofa with Abby betwixt himself and Tim, Dr. Neo Cortex long since defeated and his reign replaced with that of a Disney movie, Tony idly munched at his large portion of buttery popcorn and tried hard not to reflect on just how similar Senior was to Mother Gothel. Because as much as their little gaming session had served to distract him from remembrances of his quarrel with Charles, those sore feelings had rapidly made a reappearance once the cartoon villainous had made her appearance and caused him inadvertently think of his own failure of a parent and how said reprobate was absolutely nothing like Gibbs. 

“Are you okay, Tony?” Abby inquired, speaking loudly in the darkened room to be heard above her husband’s disharmonious snoring. 

“I’m fine.” He lied, struggling to swallow down his very bitter feelings. 

Groggily maneuvering herself so that she was siting straighter on the couch, her head no longer in Tim’s lap nor her feet in Tony’s, Abby rubbed at her bloodshot eyes before leveling him with a knowing look – her skinny hand stretching out to grab his own even as she prepared to school him on his feelings with an eerie accuracy only she could provide. 

“You miss Gibbs.” She stated, giving his fingers a squeeze. 

And, unable to deny it, Tony simply squeezed her tinier fingers in return and blinked rapidly to dispel the sudden moisture from his eyes. Because, at the end of the day, Abby was as correct as she always was – he did miss Gibbs, almost more than anything else. For while his friends were certainly more than adequate when it came to giving emotional support and comfort, there was simply nothing like the care and love of one’s parent when it came time for soothing woes and making everything all better. 

Because while Abby could ply him with as much chocolate milk as he could handle, and Tim ply him with the softest blankets he could find, at the end of the day that all paled in comparison to the prospect of Gibbs’s special homemade hot-chocolate and his negativity killing bear-hugs. 

“Call him.” Abby insisted.

“I can’t.” Tony insisted. “We’re fighting.” 

“You’ve fought before.” Abby retorted. “And you’ll fight again. Call him.” 

And just like that, the temptation to cave-in and call his father became insurmountable – the long weeks without having even spoken to said man having been more of a torture for him than anything else. And so, with that thought in mind, Tony carefully extracted himself from the couch and made his way into the general privacy of the cozy kitchen – pausing a moment for a drink of water before stepping into the oversized pantry for an additional bit of privacy. 

 

“Hello.” Gibbs greeted, characteristically gruff. 

“Hey.” Tony responded, suddenly feeling very small and alone. 

“What’s wrong, Kiddo?” The older man demanded, instantly springing into business. 

And even though everything at the moment was, in fact, wrong – Tony couldn’t seem to find the words to convey such a problem. Such a conundrum, to his great frustration, prompting him to absurdly lie to he who could not be lied to. 

“Nothing is wrong.” He spluttered, unable to stop the mindless lie from leaving his lip. 

“We’re not speaking to each other.” Gibbs scoffed. “You wouldn’t have called me unless something was wrong.” 

And even though Tony knew that the older man had not meant it in such a way, he couldn’t help but feel he was being nothing more than a nuisance to a man who surely had far better things to do than play therapist. 

“You’re still mad?” He queried, wondering if it might not be best to just hang-up. 

“I never said that.” Gibbs stated calmly. “I was never mad. Not at you, at least.” 

Understandably overwhelmed by such relieving information, Tony let out a long breath and allowed himself to sink to the floor of the pantry – very nearly seating himself atop a bag of potatoes within the poorly-lit confines of the pantry. 

“But I yelled at you.” Tony argued, making use of a bag of marshmallows to cushion his head. 

“Yeah,” Gibbs agreed, “But I had that coming, didn’t I?” 

A bit surprised at the half-apology, as well as deeply touched that he had been honored in such a way, Tony felt a large portion of anxiety leave his body as gradually allowed himself to relax. 

“You were just trying to help.” Tony protested, willing to meet his father-figure half way. 

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t being controlling.” Gibbs refuted. “I’m sorry.” 

And though Tony knew that the Marine would never admit to having given a full-fledged apology to anyone who might inquire, the fact still remained that he (himself) knew it to be true – which was more than enough to coax him into forgiving his father for whatever wrong he might have done in the pursuit of securing his child’s happiness. 

“I’m sorry, too.” He admitted, hugging his knees with one hand for comfort. 

“The only thing you need to be sorry for is jamming the garbage-disposal with a fork.” Gibbs assured, sounding more amused than angry at the honest mistake. “I nearly lost a thumb trying to fix the damn thing.”

Sharing a brief chuckle at the imagery with his father, Tony kicked his feet out as far as he could in the cramped space and thanked his lucky stars that Gibbs had been so willing to step up when Senior had made it clear he couldn’t be bothered. 

“If I come back tonight, I could help you fix it.” Tony offered, unable to outright ask for reentrance to the place he had once called home. 

“It’s already fixed.” Gibbs dismissed. “But you can come home all the same.” 

Touched to find that Gibbs still considered his place to be Tony’s home, he blinked back a bit of moisture from his eyes and took a deep breath before answering. 

“I’d like that.” 

“So would I.” Gibbs assured. “I’ve already got the hot-chocolate going.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's all Folks!

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Kiddo?” Gibbs inquired, giving Tony a nervous sideways glance at a fortuitously-placed stop sign.

Comforted greatly by the knowledge that his father seemed so invested with helping him through the unpleasantness of something so taxing as a breakup, especially seeing as said man was so thoroughly uncomfortable with anything having to deal with strong emotions, Tony’s courage swelled and shooed away whatever last vestiges of doubt he had in his heart as to whether or not he was about to do the right thing. 

“It’s been three days, Dad.” 

Three days since the hellish court case in which he had been accused of all manner of ghastly things, spousal abuse being the most odious of those, and several days after his explosive quarrel with his first-ever boyfriend. 

“And I really would like the rest of my stuff.” Tony added as an afterthought, trying to relieve some of the tension in the truck with a bit of humor. 

Entirely unfooled by his blasé manner, having spent several years learning to decipher his capricious character, Gibbs sighed and gave him yet another knowing look – conveying quite easily, via facial expression alone, that Tony was not fooling anyone by pretending to be so facetiously calm. 

“If that man even tries to make you feel badly about this – “ 

“He won’t.” Tony interrupted, flattered to have evoked such parental protectiveness. “He isn’t that sort of man.” 

Because while Charles was certainly priggish at times, and perhaps a bit overbearing when it came to matters of cleanliness, he was most certainly not (by any means) an aggressive of manipulative person. Emotionally stunted and desensitized, yes. Cruel and petty, no.

“Look – “ Gibbs began, looking fully prepared to launch into some unsolicited parental advice about relationships. 

“We’re here.” Tony cut in. 

Thus needlessly stated, as the home Charles resided in was quite large and splendorous given his occupation, Tony jerked open the passenger side door before the truck had even come to a complete halt and jumped from its cozy confines unto the pristine lawn tended to be a small bevy of gardeners. 

And then, wishing to seize upon the sudden courage his father had instilled within him only moments ago, Tony walked briskly up the well-kept walkway toward the front door of the house that homed his soon-to-be ex-boyfriend and rapped twice before strolling inside. 

As expected, Charles was seated at the island in the kitchen, a cup of black coffee in one hand and a freshly-ironed newspaper in the other – the look on his face one of complete concentration as he surveyed the economy section. 

“Charles.” Tony greeted, wishing to capture his attention. 

Inclining his head a bit to the left, his usual sign for showing that he was paying attention, Charles slowly set aside his paper and took a long sip of coffee before turning on the barstool to face Tony and the inevitable break-up he brought with him. 

“How did court go?” Charles asked, seemingly eager to dispel some of the awkward and terse atmosphere. 

Not really having wished to discus such an affair that morning, as he had already rehashed such several times with Gibbs and both McGee’s, Tony stiffened a bit and tried to think of ways in which he might circumvent having to speak of such an unpleasant ordeal. But, already a mess of nerves from knowing he must needs end his first homosexual relationship, he soon found he was unable to come up with any adequate excuse that would prevent such an uncomfortable conversation from happening. 

“The homophobic prosecutor accused me of all sorts of debauchery and made me out to be some sort of horrendous monster.” Tony confessed. “The defense wasn’t much better.” 

In fact, Tony reflected, the only decent people in that courtroom had been Gibbs and the Judge – both of whom had seemed more than just a little angry at the blatant homophobia from both lawyers as well as the blatant manipulation from Ziva. 

“You weren’t charged with anything, we’re you?” Charles politely inquired understandably still invested in his houseguest’s well-being. 

“I’ve been fined.” Tony scowled, already beginning to collect his things from about the kitchen. “A disgusting amount.” 

And, not wishing to think of the four-figure amount that had subsequently taken a large chunk of money from his savings, Tony shook his head to dispel his troubled thoughts and continued to collect the coffee mugs and gourmet hot-chocolate he had left behind in his haste to be away from such a stressful relationship. 

“What about Ziva?” Charles questioned, still angry at the woman on his behalf. “What happened to her?” 

“She won’t be deported.” Tony informed, having most egregiously lied under oath to spare her such a death-sentence. “She will be fined, though.” 

And, much to Tony’s great vindication, said fine was nearly double that of what he had been forced to pay – not that said Israeli was even going to pay said monetary fine. 

“And what about the baby?” Charles questioned, getting right to the crux of the matter. 

“She’s going to me.” Tony answered. 

For he had learned, much to his great satisfaction, that it was a girl he would soon be blessed with. 

“So matters are settled then.” Charles stated, sounding greatly defeated. 

“Yeah.” Tony frowned. “But not to my complete satisfaction.” 

Because, even after everything, he still found he could not be anything but sober at the prospect of breaking up with his first boyfriend. 

“I’m sorry, Tony. But I can’t be a father.” 

“I know.” Tony frowned. “And I shouldn’t have demanded that of you.” 

“For what it’s worth, I wish I could be selfish enough to try to be a parent. I love you.” Charles confessed, grabbing up his hand. “I loved you.” 

Accepting the gentle embrace, Tony squeezed the larger fingers back and blinked backed tears. 

“I loved you, too.” He admitted. “But this was never going to work. We’re just far too different.” 

The main reason for such a sad reality being, of course, that Tony was far too effusive with his emotions and Charles was nowhere near effusive enough. 

“Could I have a kiss before you go?” 

“Of course.” Tony obliged, stepping closer to him to allow better access. 

As expected, the kiss, while perfect and stirring, was also bittersweet and melancholy in nature. And, by at its end, Tony was, of course, blinking back tears. 

“Goodbye, Tony.” 

“Goodbye, Charles.” 

And then, not knowing what more could be said or done to salvage the inevitable heartbreak of parting ways, he fled the house and all but ran to the truck where Gibbs was patiently awaiting. 

“You going to be okay, Kiddo?” Gibbs inquired, passing him a Kleenex. 

Swiping at his eyes with the tissue, Tony smiled through his tears and nodded. 

“Yeah. I will be.”


	50. Chapter 50

For those not aware, I've just put on a sequel called "Out Loud."


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